


Into the Woods

by NameLess_FaceLess_FormLess



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Inspired by Beauty and the Beast, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 44,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NameLess_FaceLess_FormLess/pseuds/NameLess_FaceLess_FormLess
Summary: Two widowers stumble upon each other, one cursed with a mediocre life in a judgemental town, the other with an actual curse.





	1. Prologue

_A long time ago, in the Woodland Realm, lived a king with a deep, deep wound in his heart. It was the death of his beloved wife, what had left the wound and the king had been trying to heal for years. He watched his son grow until he was strong and beautiful, like a young deer, he loved him, but his heart remained hurting and sometimes, when his thoughts ran wild, he even blamed the boy for taking his mother´s life._

_So, to rid himself of such thoughts, the king turned to the earthly pleasures to occupy his mind. His opulent halls filled with wine and guests, musicians´ fingers bled because they played days, even weeks in a row, and the king succesfully forgot about his pain in the midst of a pointless celebration. But the wine that imprisoned his anguish also turned his tongue loose._

_The festivities were especially lavish that faithful night. The king was glowing with false joy, stunning in his gown that seemed to have been made from starlight, with fresh flowers in his hair, but eyes dim. The prince was standing around, slightly worried and mildly disgusted by how shamelessly his father flaunted his wealth and power. He knew it was keeping the king from plunging into depression again, so he did not protest, but he did not approve of it either._

_The night progressed and suddenly, as if someone had snapped their fingers, the king´s mood changed. He started spouting things so blasphemous the prince got shivers and rushed over to stop him from talking, but the king pushed him aside, smashed a glass against the floor and called upon the Judge of the Dead himself. He blamed the deity for taking his wife and for all his misery, his emptiness and he would have blamed him for even more, if a gust of wind hadn´t blew out all the candles and filled the hall with darkness._

„ _YOU ARE EMPTY BECAUSE YOU WISH SO! YOU ARE HURTING BECAUSE YOU WISH SO! YOU INDULGE IN YOUR MISERY LIKE IT IS THE WORLD´S GREATEST PLEASURE!“_

_The voice echoing through the palace seemingly lacked a body but once a lighting struck, the flash of light revealed a hooded figure at the gate. The prince grabbed his father´s hand and drew his dagger in defense._

„ _YOUR QUEEN HAD LEFT YOU THE GREATEST TREASURE SHE COULD GIVE AND YOU, INSTEAD OF BEING GRATEFUL BLAME HIM!“_

„ _Fool!“ the king screamed, „I don´t blame my son! I blame you! It was you, who took everything from me, I blame you!“_

_The figure at the gate grew bigger. „THE BOY IS NOTHING MORE TO YOU THAN A WAY TO PROLONG YOUR PAIN FOR YET ANOTHER DAY! AND SINCE YOU DARE TO ACCUSE THE GODS, I SHALL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO ACCUSE US OF.“_

_The prince quickly stepped forward: „My lord, I beg your forgiveness! My father isn´t himself tonight, he might have spoken harshly but he did not mean any harm, I assure you!“_

_He stood his ground, shielding the king with his own body, when the angered god erupted in a ball of light. The guests watched in horror the transformation that followed. Some tried to flee but the light caught up with them, petrifying them in the middle of the movement. The king fell to the floor, covering his head, but he also could feel himself changing. He did not recognize his voice when he tried to plead for mercy, nor his hand when he desperately reached towards the fading figure. The last words he heard before he sunk into oblivion, were anything but filled with hope.._

„ _A WAY OUT SHALL NOT OPEN UNTIL YOU LEARN.“_

 

 


	2. This Poor Provincial Town

Frustrated. That was the word Bard had been looking for for the past few days. Alright, maybe weeks. Possibly even months. He felt bad about it. There was no time for him to feel frustrated, he had no right to feel frustrated, he was too old to feel frustrated. But he did, he couldn´t help it! The days when his young fiery blood had been luring him across the borders of the town, had been long gone but that didn´t mean Bard had settled. Especially since Myra had died, things hadn´t been quite easy. The Laketown folk honored a saying: „A woman can´t do anything except bring up children, a man can do anything except bring up children.“ It wasn´t carved in stone anywhere, mostly due to the lack of proper stone to carve it in, but is sure was carved into the minds of the old-timers, who made great effort to carve it equally deeply into the minds of the young.

Therefore everyone had expected Bard to take another wife when Myra had passed away, leaving him with three little children, the youngest Tilda barely walking. But he hadn´t. Instead he´d started working twice as hard, he loved his children twice as much and every single day he found a while to leave flowers or at least a candle for Myra. Tilda´d overtaken this particular responsibility of her father after she had grown enough to safely find her way around the town. Somewhat this had been the pain in the behind of most of the Laketown population. Bain was in the clear and lucky, because nobody was paying attention to what the boy was doing, while he slowly started to take part in his father´s job. But the girls were constantly being watched. What could possibly become of them if there was no mother to teach them?

To the general horror, however, the girls were doing just fine. Sigrid was growing up to be an exact copy of Myra, she handled their modest household better than half the married women in town, she cooked, she did the laundry and if a boy should lay a hand on her without her permission, she made sure her red handprint would stay on his cheek for at least two days. Tilda helped. In all three of the mentioned activities. She was a cheeky wild child, but rarely stepped over the line that separated children´s antics from downright misbehaving. Though she was only seven years old, she very well understood the position her family was in. One misstep and a storm of supposedly just rage would fall on her dad´s head. It took them long anough to get over the fact that he had taught his children to read.

Tilda secretly wished she could sit on the pier and practice her words, but after she had to fight for one of her three precious books, she started to do this beside her mother´s memorial stone. She would sit there, reading short poems as if to her, and brush her tiny fingers over the faded pictures of birds and flowers, likes of which she had never seen in Laketown. When Bard had first found Tilda there, he couldn´t hold back the tears.

To see his children blossom at such uptight and rigid place, that, despite standing completely on water, somehow managed to produce characters drier than rusk, only increased Bard´s frustration. They deserved better and in the few rare moments he allowed himself to be a bit selfish, so did he. He wasn´t even growing tired of Laketown anymore, he was tired of it. The routine, the same old faces, same old streets, same old widows casually mentioning they wouldn´t oppose to marrying him... Not to mention the Master.

Years and years ago, Master Thornsdyke had decided he was going to marry Myra. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to mention it to her as well, so before he had even proposed, Myra had already married Bard. It was understandable that the relationship between him and the Master would be tense, to say the least, under such circumstances, but now Thornsdyke was eyeing Sigrid and Bard was ready to murder him on the spot, if he was ever to as much as to look at her in some innapropriate manner. She was seventeen years old, way to young to marry anyone, as far as Bard was concerned, and in addition to that, her stomach turned at the mere sight of the man. Thornsdyke´s money might have clad him in expensive clothes but the very same money couldn´t completely conceal his ugly outside and inside. Sigrid would be able to try and overlook his thin red hair, large belly and greasy skin, if there was a kind, loving soul underneath, but, well, there wasn´t. Bard´s blood boiled at the thought of what might be going through this man´s head when he was looking at his daughter. He could add him to the list of reasons why they needed to get out of Laketown.

The only problem so far was that there wasn´t any better place to go, at least Bard wasn´t aware of any. He didn´t knew much of the world, his barge took him once a week to the neighboring town´s market and back, and although it was a long journey, most of it lead through the woods. Nothing to see in the woods. Sometimes literally. Especially on his way back Bard had to keep his eyes wide open, because the lantern on the prow barely shone through the darkness. The thick entagled branches above wouldn´t let any of the moonlight reach the river below. Bard didn´t bother to pretend it didn´t give him the heebie-jeebies sometimes.

The woods were said to be cursed. Naturally, nobody truly believed that, expect for the oldest of the oldest, who had allegedly been around when the curse had descended onto the unfortunate place, but those people weren´t taken all that seriously. Bard often told stories to Tilda about the monsters he ´saw´ while he was leading the barge through the many curves of the woodland stream. Tilda loved spooky stories. Bain, despite being almost fifteen years old, would also listen to them and occasionally added claws or fangs or extra horns to Bard´s description of the creatures. Sigrid didn´t approve because she was worried about her father enough as it was, even without him adding demons to it. And so the days passed in Laketown, one almost identical to both the previous and following one, and Bard wished for something, anything to happen, that would cut the routine in half and kick both pieces into the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to do just a tiny bit of exposition but it kinda got out of hand...heh.


	3. Strange Neighborhood

Bard had the best intentions when he woke up on, as they called it around the house, the market day. After all, it was a nice morning, not a cloud in sight, Sigrid was singing, the breakfast was ready, Bard had all the reasons to be in a great mood. But then _someone_ had to knock on the front door.

It was a huge bouquet of slightly tired flowers. Or so it seemed at first, but then the flowers moved and revealed the unpleasant face of Alfrid Lickspittle.

Bard couldn´t supress a sigh. „Good morning, Alfrid, what can I do for you?“

Alfrid pointed to the bouquet: „Master sends these for your daughter with his sincerest wishes of a good day!“

„Well then be a doll, take them back and tell Thornsdyke Sigrid says ´thank you´!“ Bard frowned. „Actually, no, scratch that, because she doesn´t. Goodbye!“

He slammed the door in Alfrid´s face. It wasn´t the first time he did so and unfortunately, not the last either. Alfrid would be back soon with another bouquet, or a piece of jewellery, or a bottle of fine liquor, and each of those times someone was going to slam a door into his face, with all due respect to Master, of course.

„Da, you are going to make them angry. He just brought flowers!“ Sigrid scolded him a little when he sat down to his breakfast. „Don´t be so hard on poor Alfrid. Sure, he´s a bit... shifty and quite repulsing, when we´re at it, but he just does what he´s told.“

„You´ll understand this once you have your own children, Sigrid,“ Bard responded between the bites. „I do want to be polite and calm and not give them the satisfaction of seeing me flustered, but it´s very difficult when such a disgusting _oaf_ has the nerve to court my daughter.“

„He´s gonna throw you in jail one of these days,“ Sigrid frowned and presented a bowl of porridge to sleepy Tilda who had just wandered in.

„And then he´s gonna let me go, because a quarter of this town´s money comes from my fishing business,“ Bard shrugged.

„Is dad going to jail?“ Bain asked as he walked in, still yawning.

„Eventually,“ Sigrid said and Bard gave her an apologetic look.

„Oh, great!“ Bain grinned, for which Sigrid smacked him over the head with a rolled up apron.

„Anyways, da,“ the boy continued. „I was thinking and I feel like I´m ready to go to the market with you.“

„Bain, we´ve talked about this a million times,“ Bard sighed, rubbing his forehead. „The woods are dangerous, I have to take care of the cargo, I can´t have you around to worry about too!“

Bain stood up sharply. „I´m fifteen! I´m the same height as you and almost as strong! I can be useful! And today it´s gonna be a ride like through a rose garden, look at the weather, if there ever was a good time to take me with you, it´s today!“

„I dare you to slam your fist on the table,“ Sigrid warned him, seeing how worked up the boy was.

Tilda was calmly eating her porridge and watching the exchange.

Bard couldn´t deny that Bain had a point. The barge was often difficult to handle, especially when fully loaded, and the kid did grow up to be a strong young man. Another pair of hands on board could come in handy. Or it could all end in an absolute disaster, with broken limbs or hypothermia or something.

„Da,“ Tilda spoke, „take him with you this time, please. If you don´t, he´s just gonna be a meanie all day. He´s always a meanie, when you leave him at home on the market day. He won´t play with me or raise hell with me or anything, he just _sulks_.“

„Bain,“ Bard looked seriously at his son, „if I do take you with me, you´ll have to promise me several things.“

„Sure, sure, anything!“ Bain nodded vigorously, leaning across the table.

„You´ll do everything exactly as I tell you. You´ll stick with me the entire time. No wandering around. Is that clear?“

More of vigorous nodding followed. „Yes, yes, yes!“

„And moreover,“ Bard raised his finger, „...uh...alright, that´s actually it.“

„Does that mean I´m going?“ Bain asked, eyes shining with excitement.

„Yes, I guess you are.“

* * *

„I think I jinxed us this morning,“ Bain frowned at the dark arch of branches and leaves above their heads.

The storm had appeared out of nowhere when they´d entered the forest and the rain had been falling heavily for solid two hours by now. Somehow the water managed to get through the trees even though the moonlight didn´t, which made the coordination much more difficult. Bard and Bain were completely drenched and, although Bard didn´t want to admit it yet, lost. The visibility this late at night really wasn´t all that great even when the weather was nice, but there were several things Bard had noticed and remembered that made him sure he wasn´t going to get stuck in a dead-end arm of the river or drive the barge into a tree growing at the very edge of dry land. Such as a peculiarly curved low- hanging branch. A glowing stump. A strangely shaped rock, always surrounded by a cloud of fireflies. It was that very rock they should have passed a good half-an-hour ago but there was no sign of it.

„Bain!“ Bard called to the back of the barge. „Get ready, we are going to land!“

„Land? Why?!“ Bain´s voice responded, barely audible through the hum of the rain.

„Because we´re lost!“ Bard admitted much less loudly.

He wasn´t exactly proud of the development of their situation, he had been through this forest a thousand times and now _it rains and he gets lost, way to impress your teenage son, great job, Bard, pat yourself on the back!_

„We are lost? How are we lost, this is a _river_!“ Bain gestured wildly when the barge gently hit the bank, softened by the rain.

„It has several dead-end arms, Bain, alright, and it´s really, really dark!“ Bard gritted his teeth in exasperation. „I´ll have to take a look around to find out where we are. Don´t leave the barge!“

„Be careful, da! The ground´s really soft, it can slump any second!“ Bain called after him.

Once his father disappeared from his sight (which was almost immediately), the whole forest seemed to have shrunken around the boy. He clutched the rope more tightly and listened to his own heartbeat speed up. This was one spooky place.

Bard was slowly making his way through the trees, occasionally sinking knee-deep into the soaked ground and cursing like a sailor. No fireflies anywhere, not even that rock. He couldn´t even find where exactly had the stream betrayed them and pushed them into the blind spot, because there seemed to be no junction at all!

„This is not good,“ Bard whispered to himself.

He turned around, ready to return to the barge and stay there until morning, when his eyes caught a glimpse of something shiny somewhere behind the tree trunks. Fireflies! Or the glowing stump, maybe! Something! Finally. Bard would run to it, if such action didn´t directly threaten his physical well-being at the moment. So instead he walked as fast as he managed, but the closer he thought to be, the further the light was. And when he finally reached it, it was anything but a glowing stump. It was a... castle?

Bard wiped the water off his face and hesitatingly stepped closer to the slightly opened gate. Various plants were crawling all over it, it looked old and rusty, but something about that small gap was strangely inviting. So Bard entered. Behind the gate the air was noticeably colder. Everything seemed somewhat frozen, nothing moved, even though the rain was still falling. The palace iself, or a castle, however one wants to call it, towered above the gloomy garden like a sleeping monster, ready to swallow anything that wandered in. And the silence under the hum of the rain was highly unnatural. No birds or night creatures? Unsettling, to say the least. Bard almost had a heart attack, when he heard Bain´s voice behind him.

„Da? What is this place?“

„What are you doing here? I told you to stay with the barge, didn´t I?“ Bard whispered. He didn´t know, why exactly he was whispering.

„I was kinda scared,“ Bain admitted and grabbed his father´s arm. „And I brought the light with me!“

Holding the lantern in an outstretched arm, Bard carefully went up the stairs. The feeble yellow light was only revealing more creepy things along the way. The lumps randomly laying around on the steps to the main door resembled human figures way too much for Bard´s taste.

„Hello?“ Bard said loudly when they walked through the door. His voice echoed through the empty entrance hall without any apparent effect.

„Is that a good idea?“ Bain whispered with strong doubts in his voice.

„We are very, very lost, Bain. If someone lives here, maybe he can help us out,“ Bard replied, although he wasn´t sure himself.

„I don´t think anyone lives here, da, this place is a dump.“

„Shush! Look!“ Bard pointed at a warmly glowing rectangle of a door. „That´s definitely a fire.“

It was a fire. In a fireplace. Next to a table buckling with a feast. Bard and Bain stopped and stared at the picture in front of them, utterly befuddled.

„Da, I just remembered how hungry I am,“ Bain whispered.

His eyes notably widened when he noticed the whole roasted chicken, sitting on what appeared to be a large silver plate. Bard´s children hadn´t starved, ever, but roasted birds weren´t exactly on a daily menu in their household.

„I think we shouldn´t touch it,“ Bard opposed, while his stomach opposed to the opposing.

They hadn´t eaten anything for half-a-day, Sigrid was waiting with supper for them. Bard felt guilty at the though of how worried and frightened his daughters must have been by now.

„I´m going to go and try to find an owner or at least a servant. You stay here,“ he ordered.

„If you find them, thank them for the food, because I am eating it!“ Bain exclaimed and rushed over to the table.

Bard headed towards the staircase in hope that the first floor would be of some help. But it didn´t seem like it would. Every piece of furniture he passed, looked so dead. Not inanimate, no, _dead_. Steps led him into another hall, bigger than the previous one, filled with shredded remains of once undoubtedly rich decoration, and dozens and dozens of…statues? Their bizzare shapes were iluminated by the lazy moonlight, shining through a huge, broken arc window. And the cobwebs! Bard had never seen so many cobwebs in one place, there were cobwebs on cobwebs, thic, sticky and covered in dust. He tried very much not to touch any. Then something moved above his head and Bard quickly decided that the owner of the castle most definitely wasn´t residing in this specific room. Still, during his hasty retreat, he noticed the floor was covered with broken glass and stone. Some of the statues were broken.

„I´m really starting to miss the river,“ Bard mumbled under his breath and swiftly walked away, trying to ignore the unceasing rustling behind him.

He peeked into several equally pointless rooms. No cobwebs, no creepy statues,great, but also not a single soul inside. Everything was deserted, it even seemed like it had been deserted for quite some time. But then Bard opened one door and layed his eyes upon something, that made him stop and stare.

This room was less spacious, round and empty, except for – what a surprise – a statue. A cone of light was falling right at it through a small round window in the ceiling. The statue was of a beautiful young man, frozen in the middle of a defensive gesture, with one arm outstretched. His expression of fear mixed with anger was so lively it gave Bard goosebumps. Even his hair, stuck in its flowing motion, seemed like it would still be soft to touch. A heavy red cloak was wrapped around the boy´s slim figure, and a huge jewell was resting on his chest. Bard gave in to the temptation to touch it and carefully brushed the tips of his fingers over the smooth surface of the stone. The jewell glistened mockingly, if such a thing can even be said about jewellery, and then quietly slid down from the statue´s neck and fell to the floor, where it irretrievably shattered to a million pieces. Bard stood motionless, overwhelmed by shock.

Then the very foundations of the castle shuddered, as something big and dark jumped from above behind Bard´s back.

* * *

It took Bain some fifteen bites to even start thinking, how weird it was to find a fully prepared table in such a ruin. Who had prepared it and who had been meant to eat it? Certainly not a water-clogged boy on his way home from a market. This entire place was fishy and Bain sure did know fishy. And not only because his father was, among other things, a fisherman.

His father had also been gone for quite some time now. Bain was starting to feel the same creeping uneasiness as back then at the barge. He pushed away his plate.

„Wash it down with some ale, boy, it´ll settle better in your stomach,“ the goblet by his right hand spoke cheerfully.

„Oh, thank you!“ Bain smiled and raised it to his lips.

Then he stopped, frowned and looked at the goblet suspiciously.

The goblet looked back.

A split second later Bain made a sound he had no idea he was capable of producing, and bolted from the table. At the very same moment, a thunderous roar came from somewhere above, followed by another scream that made Bain´s blood freeze, because the voice definitely belonged to his father.

„He found the owner,“ the boy whispered under his breath and ran to the exit. With a corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Bard, who came running from the darkness at the first floor. He tripped and almost fell on the stairs. Something was following him.

„Da!“ Bain screamed. „I talked to a _goblet_!“ he added, when Bard was within earshot.

„That´s wonderful, son,“ his father gasped, „now RUN!“

They ran blindly into the woods, Bain carried the dying lantern. He knew neither of them had the slightest idea whether this was the way back to the barge, but the crackling and growling behind them urged them not to stop. So they ran and ran and suddenly Bain stepped into nothing. He managed to yelp an inarticulate warning before he it the ground a few metres later. A handful of sparkles exploded in front of his eyes and he smelled water, it was _close, very close, they found the river, the river…_

Then everything went even blacker than it already was.

Bard lost the ground under his feet a few metres aside from where Bain had disappeared. He had seen and heard him fall but it was too late to stop his own steps. Bard plunged into the cold water like a stone, immediately fighting his way back up, unfortunately in the wrong direction. The soaked clothes pulled him down and when a sharp rock met his temple, it was too late to cry over spilled milk.


	4. The Beast

Bard woke up desoriented, hurting, shivering with cold, and to his enormous surprise, _in bed_. His first thought was „ _bless Bain, he brought me home_ “ but then he noticed the ceiling. It was very unfamiliar, it wasn´t even a proper ceiling to be exact, more of a hole through which Bard could see into the room above. The plants had taken over the walls. It was daylight, but the room remained gloomy, grey, and the darkness was still lurking in the corners, especially in one of them. That one attracted Bard´s attention. He remembered how Tilda used to be afraid of dark corners when younger. Maybe parents should listen to their children about dark corners, the children might be right about dark corners. Something definitely was in this one and its presence completely overshadowed his other feelings, mostly consisting of concerns and a rational dose of fear.

„You are awake,“ the shadow in the corner spoke and Bard yelped.

„Don´t come any closer!“ he warned the unseen creature, a bit mad at the tremor in his voice. „Where am I?“

„You are in my home. I took the liberty of bringing you here after you´d almost drowned in that river you had walked into,“ the deep hollow voice replied, in a slightly snarky manner (which was unexpected).

„Something was chasing me,“ Bard defended himself.

Chasing _them_. Where was Bain? Whatever Bard was talking to, it must have brought him in too, right? Or was he still lying somewhere in the woods?

„There was a boy with me,“ Bard said weakly, suddenly overwhelmed by worry, „did you see him? Have you brought him too?“

The shadow shuffled a little. „I came back for him but he was already gone.“

„Not dead! Only gone,“ it added quickly upon seeing the color disappear from Bards face, „only gone. He must have woken up and walked away.“

That was barely comforting.

„I have to go,“ Bard said shortly, „thank you for your hospitality and such, but I really have to… ahh!“

He didn´t expect the ankle to protest so vehemently. He barely made a step and a sharp pain send him down to the floor. The shadow immediately moved forward startled by the groan, and the curses died out on Bard´s tongue when he firstly layed eyes on his savior.

The creature was tall, very tall, and of grotesque figure. It bore deer-like features, yet those were still surpassed by the human ones, resulting in an unconsistent mixture of long limbs,twitchy animal ears and, Bard was positive he saw them, hooves. It was all crowned with a pair of large majestic antlers on its head. They were growing from a mass of pale hair, that was hanging tangled in ropes over the beast´s bony shoulders, half hidden under a tattered veil that was concealing ost of the face. A single eye, bright like a star, was peering at Bard, who completely froze under its look.

„Don´t be afraid,“ it said quickly, attempting to sound gently, which was difficult, considering the deep coarse voice. „Let me help you up.“

Still smitten by its appearance, Bard reluctantly let the creature to lift him back on the bed. It had strange, claw-like fingers, the skin on them was dark, like burnt, but their touch wan´t rough or brute. Bard didn´t dare to look at its face, only felt the creature´s hot breath on his own forehead.

„Your ankle is sprained. It is my fault and I offer you my deepest apologies. Your leg got stuck between two rocks in the river and I pulled too hard. You will be able to walk properly in a few days but for now, you need to rest.“

The single starry eye didn´t stop examining Bard´s face. The beast gently laid one long finger on the spot on his head where Bard felt a slight pulsing pain. „This, fortunately, is just a scratch.“

„I can´t stay,“ Bard repeated, „my children are waiting for me.“

The beast seemed to have stiffen at the mention of children. It withdrew from Bard and stood up straight. The short distance between them only emphasized its increible height.

„You cannot. You are in no condition to leave yet. You need to rest,“ it said plainly.

„Am I a prisoner then?“ Bard clenched his fists.

There weren´t many other ways to describe his situation. The second of silence that preceeded the beast´s answer could hardly convince him otherwise.

„No. At the moment I am concerned only with your well-being,“ it replied eventually. „It is my fault after all that you are injured.“

„It was you what chased us through the woods!“ Bard gasped in sudden realization and felt the familiar tension grow in his muscles, as his entire body subconsciously went into a defensive mode.

How could he not put one and one together earlier? Sure, the situation was very overwhelming and same was true for the previous night, it was dark and the first sighting of the creature hadn´t been anything more than a huge scary silhouette, but on the other hand, how many specimens like this could be running around? _Think about it, Bard_.

But now, standing in the greyish daylight, the creature was more _fascinating_ than terrible to look at. There was a certain twisted beauty to its appearance, it didn´t strike Bard as the roaring demon from before.

„I might have overreacted,“ the beast bowed its head slightly. „I heard something shatter and I thought it was…“

Its voice faded into nothing and it knelt downin front of Bard to get on his eye level.

„I mean no harm to you,“ it spoke again. „Recover and then you may leave but I implore you to stay and gather some strength, the woods around here are filled with creatures much less nice than me. And if you choose to think about your stay here as of an imprisonment, so be it. I cannot stop you from doing so.“

Bard said nothing. The beast was unfortunately quite right. The leg was now hurting pretty badly and even this litte interaction drained Bard of all the energy. In addition to that, if Bain took the barge and safely returned to Laketown, as Bard hoped, there were no means of crossing the lake. Bard wasn´t imprisoned, he was _trapped_.

* * *

When Bain appeared in Laketown, dirty, beaten and exhausted, Sigrid immediately feared for the worst. She sent Tilda to play outside so she wouldn´t have to hear the bad news Bain was undoubtedly carrying. Then she ran inside to lit a fire and fetch some clean clothes and bandages. Bain slumped into the chair, breathing shallowly.

„ _Something_ took da,“ he said, voice trembling, and Sigrid grew deadly pale.

„What do you mean?!“

„Exactly what I´m saying! There´s something in the woods and it took da! We were running, he was still right behind me and then I fell and hit my head and when I woke up, he was gone, gone! It took him!“ Bain´s voice shattered into sobs at the end and huge tears rolled out of his eyes.

Sigrid´s heart almost stopped. But she forced herself to move. With her help Bain changed into clean clothes and let her attend his bruises. The crying felt good, it was a relief. He didn´t have to be brave in front of his sister, not in a situation like this.

Sigrid pushed back her own tears and when she spoke, her voice was weak but firm: „We need to do something. We should go after him, by all means, but I doubt we are going to be of much use to him on our own. What took him, Bain? Can you tell me?“

„A _beast_ ,“ the boy said darkly, staring somewhere behind Sigrid´s back.

„There was a castle. It was inside. That´s where it must have taken him!“ „A castle,“ Sigrid repeated, tapping a piece of cloth gently over Bain´ bruised knee.

„Or a palace, or something of that sort! Do I look like I´m making this up?“ he almost screamed, triggered by the doubts in his sister´s voice.

„No, no, I believe you!“ Sigrid immediately resorted to a comforting tone. „It just sounds… strange.“

„You were right,“ Bain wiped away his tears and straightened his back. „We have to go and look for him. I´ll go and gather some volunteers, someone in this town has to help us!“

He tried to lift himself up but Sigrid pushed him back into the chair.

„We have to think,“ she said sharply. „What would da do?“

That was a good question, not very helpful though. They both knew Bard could be quite hot-headed and if his children were in danger, he would attack with his bare hands, all rational thinking aside.

„We might want to do the exact opposite of what da would do,“ Bain said carefully and Sigrid agreed.

„I´ll go get Tilda, We have to tell her _something_ , so try to think about what that _something_ should be. Possibly _something_ that won´t scar her for life,“ she instructed Bain as she stood up and adjusted her blouse.

It wasn´t the first time Bain was looking at his older sister with admiration. Not a muscle moved in her face despite the storm that was definitely raging inside her, she calmly left and seconds later Bain heard her cheerfully greet someone on the street. Sigrid was really something else.

She used to resemble Tilda a lot but after they´d lost mom, she had changed. She had hardened. She´d become the woman of the house literally over the night and she carried the burden bravely ever since, instead of letting it crush her. There was a lot on her shoulders, even that was an understatement. The women in Laketown admired her for it as much as they despised her for her other traits.

But she wasn´t indestructible. Right now Sigrid was leaning over the water, breathing heavily and clutching her chest. This was the first big crisis they were facing alone. _Completely alone_. Her first real test since mom had left them for good. Sigrid could feel how much Bain secretly relies on her and she wasn´t sure whether she could handle this. Dad might be in real danger. And Sigrid could hardly imagine anyone in the town would be really willing to help them. What would they tell them anyway? _Our father was kidnapped by some forest demon, please grab your pitchforks and follow us?_ Sigrid scoffed at her own undulating reflection in the water.

Tilda was playing at the pier, dragging around a stick in the water. When Sigrid called, she ran to her immediately. Her pearly smile faded when she noticed the serious expression on her older sister´s face. Tilda slowed down. She didn´t even need to hear Sigrid say a word, she already knew something was wrong. Sigrid took her sister´s hand and forced one of the most fake smiles she had ever had to produce. Her grip tightened, when Tilda spoke quietly.

„Something happened to da, didn´t it...“


	5. Be My Guest

Bard was quick to grow restless. It was difficult to relax in a strange place inhabited by a strange being, miles and miles away from his children. One disastrous scenario after another was attacking Bard´s mind and soon it became unbearable.

The ankle wasn´t so bad after all. Before it had been mostly the unexpectedness of the pain that had prevented him from taking another step more than the pain itself. When Bard tried to put his weight on the injured leg now, it wasn´t any worse than the usual random pains he had come home with a dozen times before. Plus now his ankle was tightly wrapped in an improvised bandage made from a fabric that strikingly resembled that of the creature´s own cloak.

Bard slowly walked out of the room and found himself on the edge of yet another hole. This entire place seemed to be just a set of holes and not-holes barely holding together. A strip of floor ran along said walls, creating a still quite safely looking ledge. Bard saw several more doors, most of them weren´t actually doors, only doorframes. Overall he silently agreed with himself that this part of the palace was in a much worse condition than the one him and Bain had entered earlier.

A huge tree was growing right from the centre of the room below. Its trunk was so thick at least ten men would have to hold hands in order to hug it. Its crown was spreading above Bard´s head, knotted branches had found their way through the building, accidentally creating bridges and overpasses. It clearly was an old tree, growing here for quite a while, which made Bard think about the age of this place. The forest was transforming it into a part of itself. The floor disappeared, instead there was grass, soft, flowy forest grass, and mushrooms and flowers of incredibly bright colors. _Tilda would be extatic._

A clatter of hooves echoed through some distant corridor and the beast appeared in one of the stone arcs across the hole, a few feet above, on the level of the first branches. It ascended a set of sunlit stairs, a slight breeze playing with the veil an few strands of its hair, the robe, although worn out, still shimmered in the sun. It carried itself with a surprising grace, like a royal. Bard watched the creature disappear into the higher levels of the castle and suddenly felt an unexplicable urge to follow it up there into the sunlight. 

* * *

_Had his heart been even beating before?_ He suddenly couldn´t remember. When they had wandered into what he still, although with a certain dose of some dark irony, called his home, his first instinct had been to hide. He knew how people reacted when confronted with something unknown. They feared it and they fought it.

But then things had gone awry so fast he hadn´t had time to think about that.

The man was from Laketown, there was no doubt about it. Everything from his clothes to his scent screamed Laketown. People from there prefered earthy tones in their clothing, especially men. And they all smelled of fish and mud, it was so very _human_.

He tugged at a loose strand of hair. A strange desire to keep the man here was fighting with the urge to push him out of the door as soon as possible. This was the first contact he had with the outside world since forever. His kingdom was falling apart around him, every day he was losing more and more of himself, the gods had forgotten him and now a _fisherman_ walked in.

Was it a coincidence?

Was it a sign?

Was it a _way out_?

He thought he had lost all hope and yet there it was! A little fluttering thing inside his chest. He clutched it with both disfigured hands and allowed himself to dream, just for a second, with both eyes closed. He even took the veil off. The sun was pleasantly falling on his face, scarred by both the curse and the weight of loneliness and grief.

_The man._ Dark, slightly messy ponytail, some facial hair, rough, tanned skin. Eyes of a hardworking peasant, those always have a charming shine to them. And he has children. _Children_. That meant there were more than one. He probably has a wife too. A whole happy family.

* * *

„You must be hungry. Forgive my manners, it has been a while since I had guests. Come, let´s dine together… if you wish, of course.“

The beast stood in the doorframe, arms folded under his cloak. Bard realized he hadn´t eaten for who knows how long, but all the impressions attacking him from everywhere just didn´t let him think about whether he was even hungry. It had happened to him before. Once he had something to keep him busy, he had simply forgotten about his stomach and hadn´t remember it until he´d smelled Sigrid´s cooking.

„I could eat,“ Bard admitted now and the creature held out its long hand, but he shook his head: „Thank you, I can manage,“

He tried to limp as confidently as possible, following his host to what he almost immediately recognized as the room with a fireplace, where Bain _had speaken to a goblet_. Bard was very happy to see at least a mildly familiar place. It felt like it had been weeks since they had entered here. The table was only refilled with fresh food, otherwise everything else was exactly the same. The creature offered him a chair and sat across the table itself, but not before it poured him some ale. Bard thanked him. It smelled great and he felt a pinch of a malicious glee that he was probably going to drink better ale than Master had on his table. Still, it would be a bigger pinch, if his children were here too.

_Oh god, I hope they´re okay._

„Do not hesitate to eat to your heart´s content,“ the creature said. „There´s plenty.“

It chased a grape around its own plate with one long black nail until it finally caught it, impaled it and then the hand disappeared under the veil.

„I have already slept in your bed,“ Bard said slowly, „and before I´ll eat your food, I´d like to know your name.“

„If that´s not too much to ask,“ he added quickly when he noticed how the beast stiffened. „There are some words my mind brings up when I see you, but…“

„Let me guess,“ the creature scoffed. „A monster, a beast, a demon. This kind of words?“

Bard lowered his eyes. There was no point in pretending these expressions weren´t on his list.

The silence was short, fortunately, because it was very heavy.

„My name…“ it spoke again in a softer tone, „ used to be Thranduil Oropherion.“

Bard whispered it to himself. It didn´t exactly roll off the tongue but he assumed it was all about getting used to it. Which he didn´t have to do, because he was leaving in no more than two days. Even those were going to last for a century.

„I am Bard,“ he conjured a smile.

Thranduil´s glittering eye returned it and even that was enough to loosen the atmosphere around the table. Bard welcomed that little sparkle of something positive, it only emphasised how much tension there had been before. How could there not be tension between an injured man and a lonely woodland monster…

Bard shook his head to dispel the thought. No monster. _Thranduil_. It´s a _he_ and his name is Thranduil.

„The statue I stumbled upon earlier… is that what you used to look like?“ he asked and immediately regretted it.

Thranduil´s look changed and Bard would swear the temperature in the room dropped.

„Don´t ask about the statue, don´t look at the statue and don´t, under any circumstances, touch the statue,“ he replied darkly. „ _Ever_.“

„I´m sorry, I didn´t mean to upset you!,“ Bard quickly said, rasing his hands in a peaceful gesture. „Just trying to make smalltalk.“

„Smalltalk is about weather. That was lovely today,“ Thranduil said in the same dark manner which was somewhat comedic.

„Yes, most of this place doesn´t have a roof, so you really get the sun first hand,“ Bard looked up like the non-existent roofs all over the palace could support his observation.

That stayed hanging in the air and then Thranduil did something absolutely incompatible with his appearance – he chuckled.

„It is an old place,“ he shrugged a bit, also raising his sight to the ceiling. „The forest is claiming it. I do not mind. The same thing is happening to me after all.“

Bard wanted to ask so badly but the question about the statue was still sort of hanging in the air, so he swallowed his curiosity together with a piece of crunchy bread. It tasted very different from what he was used to from the Laketown baker.

„Is everything to your liking, sir? More ale, perhaps?“ a voice rose from somewhere on Bard´s right.

When he turned his head, his eyes met a cheerful gaze of a salad bowl.

_I talked to a goblet, da._

„Is there, by any chance, something funny in this ale?“ Bard asked slowly with eyes locked on the bowl.

„Oh, the ale is clean, you are not hallucinating, do not worry,“ Thranduil was smiling under his veil. „This happens around here. The plates, goblets, even cutlery talks. They are harmless, quite friendly, as a matter of fact. One of my best friends is a bottle of vine.“

„A bottle of vine,“ Bard repeated raising an eyebrow.

They used a similar expression at home when they talked about their old neighbor from the west side, who was very fond of alcohol.

Talking kitchenware. Statues of people scattered around the place. Thranduil and his antlers. It all started to resemble one of the stories Tilda and Bain loved to listen to.

Maybe too much, for Bard´s taste.


	6. Into the Woods

Tilda sniffled a bit but not for long. She figured it would be more useful to try and think about how they should proceed. Sigrid and Bain were already at it, sitting at the table and listing people they could ask for help. Sigrid seemed to be very pesimistic about pretty much everyone. Bain was carefully circling the option of asking the Master himself. Tilda wanted to contribute so she at least made some tea. Then she was sitting quietly aside, making a list on her own, of things they were going to need on their journey. She got startled when someone knocked…no, not knocked, _pounded_ on the door. Tilda peeked behind the curtain.

„I think it´s the Master,“ she reported back in whispers. "Alfrid´s there too, and two other guys!"

“Speaking of the devil,“ Bain mumbled.

Sigrid smoothed her hair. „Everyone stay calm and act natural. They´re probably here for the share of the money. Do you have the money, Bain?“

More pounding.

Bain proudly presented a pouch with coins. He almost hadn´t managed to persuade Bard to let him carry it. They would be in a whole lot of trouble now, if da had kept the money in his coat. Sigrid counted off the sum she knew Bard usually gave the Master and with a deep breath opened the door.

Thornsdyke´s pasty face lit up when it was Sigrid who appeared behind the door, instead of Bard, who, quite frankly, was probably his least favourite person in the world. Sigrid, on the other hand, was among those favourites. Thornsdyke was one of those men who always mistake disgust in a girl´s face for shyness, ´no´ for at least a ´maybe´ and a general dislike towards them for ´playing hard to get´.

„Good morning, my lovely,“ he swung on his heels casually, meaning he intended to do it casually but instead looked like he was going to fall over the very next second.

„It´s… it´s not even morning, my lord,“ Sigrid replied, already exasperated. It was well past noon. „I assume you came for your share? Here it is.“

Upon handing him the coins, Thornsdyke took hold of her entire hand and put a slimy kiss on it.

„Of course, I came for the money, but I got the pleasure of your company for good measure!“ he smiled, showing healthy but yellow teeth under a rather pathetic orange moustache.

„It must be your lucky day, my lord. Now please excuse me, I am in fact quite busy,“ Sigrid tried to slip out as politely as possible.

Thornsdyke straightened his back, probably in order to tower majestically as a supposedly just rage filled him. „Your father made you into a servant. I bet he doesn´t lift a finger around his own house! It is always all left for your lovely hands, isn´t it!“

„My father spends hours and hours on the lake, fishing, so he can feed his children,“ Sigrid gritted her teeth, „I am the oldest, it is only natural that I replaced my mother in her duties! I can assure you, my lord, I am noone´s servant! Good day!“

To think she reprimanded da for slamming the door into Alfrid´s face! She had to restrain herself not to do it too. Her face burned as she returned to the kitchen.

„Do I hear wedding bells?“ Bain asked bitterly, not even hiding his disgust.

Sigrid threw her apron across the room. „Oh, he wishes!“

„We should hurry,“ her brother continued, „even if on our own, we have to get da back as soon as possible. Because if Thornsdyke finds out he´s not here, I don´t think anything will stop him from just taking you. We´re still kids, Sigrid. Even if we fight him, we can´t possibly win.“

That was a horrifyingly valid observation. Sigrid was only now realizing that Bard was the single real thing preventing the Master from taking what he wanted. She had never fully understood how come Bard was still walking free, there was really nothing easier than making up a false accusation and locking him up, or just use his occasional rudeness to Alfrid as an excuse. She was guessing there was some lowkey fear or respect on Thornsdyke´s side involved. Whatever it was, it kept her free. And it also depended on Bard being present.

„Sigrid? Are you okay?“ Tilda looked at her sister, whose face just went completely blank for a few seconds.

„What? Oh, yes, I am. I was just imagining some horrible things. I´m done now,“ the older girl shook her head to disperse the nightmarish thoughts that started to gather like an angry mob.  „Let´s go back to planning.“

* * *

Even though Bain´s remark had frightened her, Sigrid had vehemently protested against the idea of going on their own. But, as Tilda had pointed out, seeking help would result in spreading the news of Bard´s disappearance around the town, because people just couldn´t keep their traps shut here. The news would therefore eventually reach the Master and that, as was the consensus among the siblings, was the last bloody thing they needed.

Tilda had gotten scolded for using the word ´bloody´and Sigrid, with her heart somehere up her throat, had agreed. Bain was doing his best with the barge. His leading wasn´t as smooth and confident as Bard´s but he was halfway there. Tilda was watching him, nibbling on a carrot, and felt a bit sad. Bain was going to be just like their da. Sigrid was going to be just like their ma. But there as was noone left for Tilda. When she looked in the mirror, she didn´t see either of her parents. The older she got, the more these thoughts occupied her bright little mind and it wasn´t as easy to shake them off as it used to be.

„Tilda? Are you scared?“ Sigrid sat down next to her and wrapped a thick scarf around her shoulders.

Tilda shook her head. „No. I´m not afraid of the woods, da always tells me everything about them, remember?“

Sigrid smiled and patted the soft brown locks on her younger sister´s head.

„But those stories aren´t real, you know that, don´t you. There are no monsters in the woods! It´s just an old and deep forest, so it can be scary… but no monsters.“

Tilda huffed, making her most adult expression. „You don´t have to say this to make me not afraid. Because I´m not! Afraid, I mean. I´m ready to take on any monster that would come in our way!“

„Also, I could sneak up to Thornsdyke and bite him or kick him, if you want,“ she added then. „I´m small and nobody would suspect me, I can be really innocent, look!“

And she batted her long eyelashes at Sigrid who started laughing so hard she almost lost balance and fell into the water.

„Just save your strength for the forest monsters,“ she said when she caught her breath.

„What are you laughing about?“ Bain yelled from the back. He felt left out because he had to drive.

„Tilda´s planning to bite Thornsdyke!“ Sigrid yelled back.

„Oh, yeah! That´s a good plan, keep that in mind, little sis!“

„Don´t give her ideas!“

Bickering about whether it was suitable or not to bite an authority figure, they arrived at the border of the forest. The debate died out when the barge entered the tunnel of trees. The sun was already setting but now it disappeared completely and Sigrid had to lit the lantern at the prow. Bain almost missed the rain from before because that had at least provided some background hum, while now it was just silence. They were almost afraid to breath.

„I am not completely sure I can find the place where we got lost,“ he admitted after several minutes of quietly taking in the forest.

„Well you should´ve said that at home, now we´re here,“ Sigrid frowned. „Any special signs? Whar are we looking for?“

„It was a dead-end arm of the river, you know, one of those fake streams that don´t lead anywhere,“ Bain replied. „Besides that, I don´t know. It was dark and raining and the banks might have changed.“

Tilda glared into the green squinting, but she could hardly make out one tree from another.

„This is like one giant bush,“ she said, annoyed. „Everything begins everyhere and ends nowhere.“

Bain couldn´t agree more.

* * *

It was completely dark and they just started coming to terms with the possibility they had gotten absolutely lost, when a déja vu struck Bain. He couldn´t quite decided what exactly was it that had awaken the feelings of familiarity, but they sure had been awaken and he knew where to go. Some twenty minutes later the light of the lantern iluminated a dent in the bank, which had been left by the barge at their previous involuntary parking. Bard produced a victorious half-scream. To find the rest of the way was going to be a breeze, after all, he had managed to follow Bard before, led mostly by his instinct!

Sigrid felt relief mixed with nervosity. Was da really there somewhere, barely half-a-mile from them as Bain claimed? So far there had been no sign of any life whatsoever, not counting the treest that seemed like they had eyes. She clutched a ball of bright red yarn in her hand. She planned on marking their way with it, it was in fact Tilda´s idea, she had read about it in some storybook.

Tilda was the first to jump out of the barge. Bain tied it to a tree, Sigrid tied the red yarn to the very same tree and then the siblings made a chain, firmly holding each others´ hands, with the youngest one in the middle, ready to head towards the assumed palace. Bain carefully measured every step, warned his sisters about every branch or stone, and felt more concentrated than ever before in his life. Also a bit proud. They were doing great so far, the only mishap was that they hadn´t taken enough food for the way back but what was a little hunger against all the rest!

_Weapons._

„We are not armed,“ Bain said and stopped.

Tilda bumped into his back from behind.

„Do we need to be?“ Sigrid sighed unhappily.

„I think we ought to be,“ Bain nodded.

He was now angry at himself for not thinking about this earlier, or, to be more exact, at home. They could´ve grabbed something sharp at home.

„Pick up some sticks and fill your pockets with stones,“ he said, immediately doing so himself. Of course that was not going to help against the monster but it was much better than going empty-handed.

„Is it close?“ Sigrid asked. „I´m almost out of yarn.“

„I think we´re getting closer,“ Bain replied.

Tilda yawned into her sleeve. „Let´s go, I´m sleepy. I wanna find da and go home.“

* * *

„That is one creepy castle,“ Sigrid exclaimed with a bizzare appreciation.

The rugged silhouette of the palace was dwarfing its surroundings and looked anything but inviting. The sibling firmly clutched their sticks, Tilda helped Sigrid tied the end of the yarn to to a branch and Bain was remembering his dialog with a goblet.

„So, what do we do? Just walk in?“ Sigrid asked, tossing her stick.

She looked ready for battle, or, which was more probable, she just really wanted to get it over with.

„I guess. We´ll have to improvise. If we can avoid conflict, it would be great,“ Bain replied. He suddenly sounded much older.

„Da´s in there, I can feel it!“ Tilda clenched her tiny fist.

„Alright, let´s go,“ Bain gave a silent command and they step by step approached the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing the Bardlings, I might include them more than I originally intended!


	7. Something There That Wasn´t There Before

„You know, on the boat, when I said I was ready for any kind of monster? I lied a bit,“ Tilda whispered, hanging on Sigrid´s sleeve.

„It´s okay, Tilda, I´m scared too,“ Sigrid sighed. She _was_ scared and also cold.

They ascended the main staircase. The entrance was closed now and Bain was afraid it was going to make a lot of horrible noise to try to open it, but then he pushed anyways. Climbing up the walls wasn´t an option when they had Tilda with them.

An enticing smell pulled them in. It was food, but not just any food, this was _good food_ , that kind of food they usually smelled only from the Master´s house. Bain´s senses sharpened. This could be a trap, scratch that, this mostly likely was a trap.

They tiptoed in, staying close to the walls, Tilda was even breathing into her palm to make it less noisy. Sigrid was clutching her stick so firmly her fingers hurt. Bain shortly peeked over the corner, gasped and pressed himself against the wall with a mixture of joy and caution.

„It´s da!“ he whispered.

Tilda could hardly contained herself. Sigrid put her hands on her shoulders to calm her down.

„Fine, let´s get him, why are we standing here?“ she asked.

„That... thing, it´s there too,“ Bain hissed. „I´m not entirely sure what is happening there.“

„We have the moment of surprise!“ With those words Tilda bolted towards the light of the fire and there was no stopping her.

* * *

Bard had soon realised that sunrises and sunsets weren´t to be relied on in this place. Sometimes days seemed endless, at other times the nights lasted for two days in a row. At first Bard had assumed it is only his own confusion, the unfamiliarity of the place and worries causing this deformity in his perception of time, but then it´d started to feel actually wrong.

But he hadn´t asked. He had already figured out something had happened to Thranduil, something that had caused all of this, and forcing him to talk about it seemed like a bad thing to do, especially since he had clearly grown quite fond of Bard´s company. Bard didn´t want to spoil it by being nosy.

His ankle was completely back to normal and he started to think about other possibilities how to get home. There was no telling whether someone had come back to look for him. A whole fleet might have been sent out to find him but if they hadn´t managed to stumble upon the castle by accident as he had with Bain, the chances were slim. Even if Bain had come along, maybe he hadn´t been able to find the way to the palace during daylight. Things look different in daylight. Long story short, Bard had to stop relying on waiting and do something on his own. Suddenly a whole week had passed. The children had never been on their own so long and in addition to that, there was still the considerable uncertainity concerning Bain´s fate. Bard was almost positive the boy had gotten home safely, after all fathers have similar instincts as mothers, they can feel deep in their gut when their children are in danger. But the ´almost´ haunted him.

He thought about building a boat. Then he dismissed the idea because that would take ages. He thought about _swimming_ home. If he could reach the edge of the forest, he´d manage to divide the rest of the way betweent the several rocks that were sticking out of the water, usually too busy endangering the passing ships. Each of them could be a little landing place where Bard could catch his breath. He knew he could make it, the only problem was the temperature. The lake was very cold. It stayed cold even during the summer. Cold water meant cramps, body heat loss and breathing difficulties. Bard decided that was going to be his very last resort.

Thranduil couldn´t ignore the worry in Bard´s face. He tried to keep him company as often as possible because that appeared to be the only times the man would cheer up and smile. Especially at one occasion Thranduil found himself absolutely smitten by Bard´s smile. He took him to the highest point of the palace, above the crown of the giant tree, where the entire forest was visible, including its northern border. The sun was setting and they were talking about various kinds of birds (and lack thereof in Laketown), how beautifully the thin strip of water on the horizon sparkled in the dusk, and then a huge inky blue butterfly showed up, circled them twice and then sat exactly where the tip of Thranduil´s nose would be, hidden under the veil. It made Bard laugh and Thranduil just sat there, almost motionless, trying not to scare away both the butterfly and the moment.

But these happy moments were virtually unsustainable because Bard wanted to go home and his anxiety was hopelessly prevalent. Thranduil understood. He used to be a father too, after all. He forced himself to try and come up with a way to help him but all he could do was take Bard to the end of the forest. He wouldn´t dare to go any further. He wasn´t sure he even _could_ go further.

„Would it ease your worry if I told you... something?“ he asked on the tenth day of Bard´s stay.

„That would depend on the something,“ Bard shrugged.

They were sitting at a dinner table again. The salad bowl had started bringing friends some three days ago, so Bard had made acquaintance with Bain´s talking goblet, its several siblings, a very sassy family consisting of silver fork, knife and spoon, and Thranduil´s bottle-shaped friend that carried an exquisitely tasting wine.

„Something that might sound a bit odd, to put it very mildly,“ Thranduil admited and Bard gave him look.

„Try me,“ he said and pointed a fork at him.

„Try him!“ the fork agreed.

„I know, I know,“ Thranduil raised his hand. „A few more things could be described as odd around here, starting with me. But this is a whole different thing.“

„Alright, so far it doesn´t sound like anything that could possibly, as you said, ease my worry,“ Bard raised his eyebrows sceptically.

Thranduil foldd his hands over the empty table. „It´s about the time. You have probably noticed that it is somewhat distorted here... that it does whatever it wants.“

„I did,“ Bard nodded, „I just didn´t want to ask about it, since you don´t seem to be, you know, partial to questions.“

Thranduil tugged on a lock of his hair. Over the time Bard had listed that particular gesture under ´ _I feel slightly embarassed_ ´. He had to admit, he did find it quite adorable, this little display of vulnerability. But before Thranduil even opened his mouth to continue, a tiny war-cry cut through the air and Bard was _decked_ by something small and screaming.

* * *

The very unexpected appearance of Tilda made Thranduil spring up into a defensive pose, with arched back and a growl building up in his throat. The girl came sprinting towards them so fast she knocked her father down from the chair.

„Da!“ she screamed into his chest, clutching him as tightly as she managed.

„ _Tilda?!_ “

Bard hugged her mostly because he needed to make sure she was real.

„It´s me, da, we came for you!“ Tilda lifted her head. Her eyes were shining with excitement but then she noticed Thranduil, squeaked and hid her face again.

„Da?!“ Sigrid´s voice was shaky and filled with relief. „He´s really okay, Bain, look!“

She slipped out from behind the corner, ready to swing the huge stick she was carrying, and immediately followed by Bain, who was tossing a stone in each hand, for a change. He dropped them at the sight of their father trying to get up with Tilda wrapped around him.

„You are all _here_! How are you all here?“ Bard gasped, reaching for his children, anxious to hug them all at once. They attempted the very same thing.

„What did you expect, that we would just shrug and say ´oh well´ and go on?“ Bain scoffed and laughed under the tears of relieve.

„I´m sorry I haven´t tried to find you right away, da,“ he added in a more humble tone. „I was scared. I didn´t know what was the right thing to do. I though you might be dead!“

Bard pulled him closer and pressed a kiss into his thick dark hair. „You did amazing, son. _Amazing_.“

„They did amazing too,“ Bain gestured towards the girls. „You should have seen how Sigrid _swept the floor_ with Thonrsdyke, when he came for money! And Tilda was very brave, she didn´t cry once through the whole time, also she had the idea with the string, so now we can find our way back to the barge and go home!“

Bard felt a burning sensation in his eyes and knew that was one of the rare appearances of happy tears in his life. Three excited hearts beating in his hug were telling him everything was going to be just fine from now on, this little digression into a crisis was now over and he could go back to his life, to his fishing and to Laketown.

Thranduil was watching the scene unfolding in front of him with mixed feelings. It was just one big explosion of happiness for them but he could feel the bitter loneliness spreading inside him a gain, victoriously claiming its previous place.

The youngest one slipped out of her father´s hug and stared at Thranduil with huge violet blue eyes. Although he had scared her before, now it was all careful curiosity on her side and mostly awkwardness on his.

„Da, is this the forest monster from your stories?“ she asked quietly.

Bard turned his eyes to Thranduil, who made a step back and now was half covered by a shadow, trying not to interfere with the situation. He even hid his hands in the large sleeves of his gown.

„No, sweetheart,“ Bard said, „those were about an evil forest monster. This is Thranduil. He´s _good_.“

 


	8. Come Into the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you for the kudos, I check every morning and it always cheers me up so much and I start my day in much better mood, so really, thank you!  
> Also I started adding ilustrations to the previous chapters, I haven´t quite found a suitable style for them yet, so they might change over time, I´m thinking about resorting to traditional media instead of digital, anyways, check them out, if you want :)
> 
> I hope you´ll keep enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing this! <3
> 
> (If you find some mistakes or anything of that kind, don´t hesitate to point it out in the comments, English is not my first language after all, so this is a way to learn stuff for me. Of course any commentary is highly appreciated!)

Thranduil was looking into the unexpectedly wise eyes of the little girl and felt her trust growing. Her gaze softened as she accepted her father´s assurance of Thranduil´s meek nature and for one fleeting second she resembled Legolas. It pricked Thranduil´s heart like a small thorn on otherwise perfect flower but it was gone before he could start hurting.

„Come into the light, please?“ Tilda asked quietly and politely, holding out a small rough hand.

Thranduil had barely realized he had stepped all the way back into the shadow, so now his features were shielded from the light of the fire and completely unrecognizable. He hesitantly obeyed Tilda´s request, placing his pointy blackened hand into her waiting palm, and let her lead him into the light. Bard caught himself holding his breath when his youngest pulled a chair over and climbed onto it to examine Thranduil from closer distance. Sigrid dug her fingers into Bains wrist and gasped, ready to bark a warning any second.

„I like your eye,“ Tilda said after a brief silence filled with that special concentration that is to be found only in curious children exploring things.

„And your hair smells nice, like flowers,“ she continued. „And your ears are really cute, can I touch them?“

„Alright, that´s enough, Tilda, come on!“ Bard laughed nervously.

He got up, grabbed her and put her down next to her siblings.

„But da! They are so fluffy!“ she protested and Thranduil started to laugh.

„Tilda, get a grip,“ Sigrid said sharply. „He´s the one that took da, remember?“

She did not see anything fluffy or cute, she did not trust _it_ and whatever Bard said was quite probably a result of some kind of sorcery. Even though Sigrid did not usually jump to conclusions of supernatural nature, or to any conclusion at all, she doubted that the creature in front of them was anywhere near trustworthy.

„It´s fine, Sigrid,“ Bard opposed. „He didn´t _take_ me, he saved me, I would have drowned!“

„He also chased us through the woods and gave me nightmares probably ´til the rest of my life,“ Bain mumbled, frowning and still stiff with caution.

Thranduil bowed his head in apology. „I did not mean to do any such thing. Let me at least try to make it up to you!“

He gestured towards the chairs and then clapped. The children watched in awe as a line of bowls loaded with fruit, trays full of meat and pastry stacked on plates, followed by goblets and bottles with wine, ale and milk with honey, danced out of what was supposedly a kitchen. It was like a freaky dreamy musical number without music, accompanied only by the clinking of the dishes and mixture of their voices. The _dishes´_ voices.

„Oh good, for a while I thought I had gone completely nuts, when I talked to that goblet yesterday!“ Bain gasped in relief.

Bard gave him a look. „Yesterday? You didn´t talk to that goblet _yesterday_ , Bain.“

The boy sat down and returned the look. „Yes, I did... unless I have been in the woods for several days, which I don´t think...? Sigrid? How long have I been gone from home?“

„What? I don´t know, two days tops, can we please concentrate on the talking, dancing, _living_ kitchenware for a second?!“ Sigrid´s voice was much higher than usual and she looked so disturbed and tired Bain immediately felt a bit ashamed of his casual tone.

„That is the thing I wanted to talk about before your little one came out of nowhere,“ Thranduil reminded Bard. „The time.“

Bard looked at him clearly worried what information was going to follow.

„No, no, no, hold on a second!“ Sigrid protested. „Timeout! We need a timeout here!“

They all turned to her with expectation.

„What is happening?“ she raised her voice, hands on her hips and a deep line at the bridge of her nose. „The plates are dancing?! There´s a horned monster sitting at the table at us?! And there´s apparently something very wrong with the time here as well, I don´t even want to know what, I cannot process any more weirdness right now! How is everyone so calm?!“

„Da told us things are okay,“ Tilda replied and took a sip of her milk.

„Don´t drink it!“ Sigrid almost screamed. „Don´t touch any of it, what if it´s poison or cursed or... just don´t touch anything!“

„Sigrid, please,“ Bard got up to calm his eldest. „I swear there is nothing to be afraid of, come, sit down, eat something, you look tired, sweetheart. We´ll stay for a little bit longer and then we are going to go home and everything´s going to be just like before. I promise. Okay?“

„I´m sorry, da, I didn´t want to freak out,“ she sighed and rested her head against Bard´s shoulder, „all of this is is just so creepy and this has been the most stressful day in my entire life!“

Bard sat her down next to Bain and Sigrid gratefully grabbed a shiny red apple from a smiling bowl. She shivered when the bowl winked at her.

„The time, Thranduil?“ Bard looked at their host in anticipation.

The children appeared to think he had been here for only a day.

Thranduil shifted his look somewhere behind Bard´s back.

„It flows differently here. It flows faster,“ he said. „Ten days here seems to be just a day in the _outside_ world. That is why your children assume you have been gone for only a day.“

The first thing Bard felt after receiving this piece of the woodland palace puzzle was relief. His children hadn´t been left alone for more than a day! Sure, he would have loved it if he knew this earlier and therefore could´ve been spared all the stress, but it was better to learn it at least this way that not learn it at all.

„That explains the tree, I guess,“ he said because nothing better came to his mind. „How did it happen? _What_ even happened?“

Thranduil shook his head. „I couldn´t possibly bore you with my story. Not during the last minutes before you head home. It would be a very dark note to part on.“

Bard leaned forward. „Thranduil, you have hooves and antlers and dancing things in your house. I doubt ve would be bored,“ he said with a grin.

„Of course if you absolutely don´t want to talk about it, nobody will force you,“ he added but it was very clear he was dying to know more.

„I suppose it would be only fair, since I have met your family and since we have talked quite a lot about you,“ Thranduil sighed, yet again pulling on his hair.

It was not because he would not _like_ to talk about his past with someone, for the first time in a million years. But the cloud of distrust surrounding Sigrid (she nibbled quite happily on her apple but whenever her eyes found him, she frowned) reminded him that these were people, not fond of curses and such. And he would have to admit certain things about himself. Thranduil _hated_ admitting things about himself, which had gotten him where he was in the first place. Maybe he could tell them at least something. Bard was certainly entitled to know this ´at least something´, since he had almost died because of him. Besides that Thranduil felt he owed him for making him a happier person over these past ten days. It was the taste of something else that dull loneliness and boy, did Thranduil need that!

„I used to have everything,“ he started, surprised himself by how dark the tone of his voice was. „I had a gorgeous wife, treasures, power. This place used to be a crown jewel on the entire woodland realm. Just picture it!“

„I´m picturing it,“ Tilda sighed dreamily. One could almost see the non-existent bling´s reflection glimmer in her eyes.

„My queen died shortly after my son was born,“ Thranduil continued, now staring at his own deformed reflection in the perfectly polished plate.

The children turned to him, each one feeling their own loss. Sigrid reached for Tilda´s hand, mostly for her own comfort. Bard slightly bit his lip.

Thranduil spoke again, „I _did_ try to heal, but it was too difficult. Years and years passed and I have let the grief overshadow my rationality and I insulted the gods, blaming them for taking my beloved away. I called upon the Judge of the Dead and said some things to his face that should not be said to _anyone´s_ face, especially not god´s. Which angered him and all of this,“ he raised his arms, encompassing the whole palace and everything in it into a single gesture, „is what happened next.“

„A curse?“ Bain raised his eyebrows. 

„Wow,“ Tilda exclaimed, maybe slightly inappropriately, and then scratched her head. „But that means it can be broken, no? Curses usually have some breaking point! I know, because I´ve read a lot of stories about them!“

„Those were fairytales, Tilda. That stuff doesn´t happen in real life,“ Bain scoffed at her.

„At least I thought it didn´t,“ he added immediately, noticing a fork nibbling on his index finger.

„Your sister is right,“ Thranduil nodded. „There is a breaking point but _he_ made it so vague I am not sure if it is even real. After all, look at this,“ he gestured at himself and then at the happy kitchenware. „Chaos! This curse was created in rage. The Judge himself must have not been sure what he was going for and it resulted in this unconsistent mess. I have not noticed it at first, I thought he simply turned me into a monster, but as the curse progressed, it just stopped making sense.“

Thranduil was now looking at his shaking hands. The silence around the table could be cut with a knife. Sigrid was still clutching Tilda´s hand, Bain was trying to process everything and Bard just didn´t know what to say. What could be possibly said in such a situation.

When Thranduil spoke again, his voice sounded old, sick and feeble. „My body is deteriorating in random ways, antlers here, hooves there, but my mind stays the same and that terrifies me beyond measure. One day I will wake up only to realize I have lost the last parts of myself and now I am forever trapped in a beastly form, with no way to cry out for help.“

Driven more by habit than anything else, Bard reached across the table to place his hand on Thranduil´s, the universal gesture of comfort used between people who are already on their way to closeness but not quite there yet. Thranduil was surprised and grateful for this small thing at the moment, though Bard couldn´t really see it under the veil.

„The time was not part of the curse, I think,“ he continued. „The sudden appearance of a higher entity must have damaged it, since gods are said to be timeless. I cannot tell precisely, these things are beyond my understanding. And the dishes... well, they just happened to be at the edges of the curse. The shadows of the lives _he_ has taken that night might have gotten caught in these objects and animated them. It was a matter of coincidence.“

„The statues,“ Bard remembered and shivers ran down his spine. Was the body of cheerful miss Saladbowl slowly falling apart in the room filled with cobwebs?

„The statues,“ Thranduil nodded.

Bard withdrew his hand. A realization was coming upon him, a horrible one, and he wasn´t sure whether to bring it up or not. But since almost all of Thranduil´s cards were on the table, maybe he would be willing to reveal the last one as well.

„The statue you said not to ask about, not to look at and not to touch,“ Bard said slowly, „it´s him, isn´t it. It´s your son.“


	9. When He´s Human Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one´s a little shorter because I decided to save the action for a separate chapter, it wouldn´t go well with all this emotional stuff here, so get ready, it´s coming in number 10!!
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, it´s a great thing to wake up to <3 So again, I appreciate whatever you have to say!
> 
> Enjoy!

„That´s why you came after us.“ Bard suddenly understood everything, when he looked at the statue. „You thought I broke it... _him_ , I meant, broke _him_.“

They were standing in front of the statue. The room around it felt like another smaller world within this one. Bard hadn´t noticed the flowers before but now when Thranduil had brought a candelabra into the room, he saw the garlands of wild woodland flowers hanging around the walls. They were almost fresh, which meant they were being changed daily. Bard recalled those few moments when they had been sitting together under the giant tree and Thranduil had been seemingly aimlessly weaving together long ropes of flowers. So this was where they had always gone after that.

„I cannot tell if I will ever get him back,“ Thranduil said, brushing his fingers over the stone cheeks of his son, „but I know for sure that if he shatters to pieces, it is over forever.“

„I wish I had a statue of ma,“ Tilda whispered.

She was clinging to her father´s arm and the room with flowers and stone boy made her sad. She had only a stone in their backyard, if one could even call it a backyard. And ma wasn´t even really sleeping there, because they lived on water and the whole of Laketown was standing on stakes, there was no ground for ma to sleep in. Tilda used to love that stone almost as she would love her but as she was getting older, she started to perceive it more as simply a stone. And she wished for something that would be closer to the _realness_ of ma, something that would bear her likeness. Sure, Sigrid bore her likeness well enough. But it wasn´t the same as having genuine memories of what ma had looked like. So, statue would be nice.

Thranduil knelt down in front of her.

„Do not be sad, little one,“ he whispered. „Would you still like to touch my ears?“

„Yes, please,“ Tilda sniffled.

Thranduil turned his head and pulled the veil away a bit. The girl raised on her toes and rubbed the soft deer ears between her fingers, giggling when it twitched.

„Thank you, I´m all better now,“ she said shyly afterwards, withdrawing back to holding da´s hand.

Bard tousled her hair. He could feel when his youngest one was sad and now it oozed from her every movement, but touching Thranduil´s ear did cheer her up. He could feel that too.

Sigrid tugged on Bard´s sleeve: „Da, we shoud really go now.“

She hated to spoil the moment but despite all those touchy- feely things that had happened in the past few minutes, she didn´t feel comfortable.

„We should,“ Bard agreed.

„I will have the kitchen prepare you some food to take with you,“ Thranduil said, got up and gestured at them to follow him.

The kitchen was more than happy to prepare a package of food to last them not only for the journey home but for at least one more week after that. The preparations were hapening in the middle of a constatnt chatter and Bard found himself absolutely hypnotized by the choreographed movement of the items. He couldn´t quite wrap his head around their whole situation. How could something so grotesquely happy be hapening in the same place as those other, horribly sad things?

„Do you remember the way to the barge?“ Bard asked Sigrid quietly while Bain and Tilda were picking up their things and occasionally stealing something from the leftovers on the table.

„The string, da, remember?“ she reminded him.

„Oh, right. The string.“

Bard seemed distracted and somehow Sigrid could understand why. It must have been very intense ten days, some bonding had probably occured, since the screature, or... _Thranduil_ , had been starved for affection so long... But now it was over and the time had come to return to the normal life.

_Just let them go. It is not that hard_. Thranduil was standing around in the shadows, trying to remember how to say goodbye. It had been forever since he had to say goodbye to someone and those who deserved the goodbyes had not gotten them from him anyway because they had been gone before he had even realized what was happening. Thranduil sighed and walked over to Bard, the sound of his hooves against the stone floor way louder than before, for some reason.

„Bard? May I speak with you?“ he said softly.

Bard let Thranduil lead him aside. They stood by the fireplace in which the fire was slowly dying because nobody had remembered to feed it.

„I have a favor to ask, although it might seem inappropriate,“ Thranduil said.

„Whatever is in my power,“ Bard nodded, doubting anything he could possibly want would actually be in his power but ready to at least try.

„Don´t speak a word of me to anyone outside the woods. I believe others would not be so open-minded and however miserable my existence might be, I would like to continue it as long as there is at least a glimmer of hope.“

„Of course, yes, absolutely!“ Bard nodded quickly and pulled Thranduil´s hand away from his hair. „Stop that. You are going to rip all your hair out.“

Thranduil´s veil moved a little as he smiled. „You noticed, huh?“

„Of course I _noticed_ ,“ Bard shrugged. „This is how I´m going to remember you, maybe as the time goes I´ll forget the antlers but I´ll always remember you tugging at that one strand of hair. And also how you eat grapes. That entire stabbing part just... fascinated me.“

Thranduil laughed from his very heart. „Grapes? Really?“

„I always remember the weird details,“ Bard replied with a smile, „ even about the closest ones. Myra was always doing a similar thing with her hair when she was worried. She usually put it in a bun and had this one stray lock on her side... she used to pull it too.“

They shared a minute of silence and then Thranduil spoke again. „I think I will remember everything about you for as long as my mind allows it. You will make a great image among the usual darkness and ruins that fill my memory.“

He put his long arm around Bard and they headed back to where Sigrid had already started tapping her foot a little.

„And if you wish to make this your regular resting place on your way to the market,“ Thrandul continued, „you are always welcome.“

„That is in fact _a great idea_ , I might take you at your word on that!“ Bard said as he lifted the bag of food on his back.

The goodbye itself was very short and casual, like leaving from a late tea party at neighbors´. It was Thranduil´s suggestion that sparked hope they may not be parting for good and made everything less difficult. He stood at his doorstep until the silhouettes of Bard and his family completely melted into the early morning darkness.


	10. Enter the Beast(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don´t write a lot of action stuff, so please use your imagination a bit XD
> 
> Thank you again for the wonderful feedback! As usually, your thoughts are appreciated <3
> 
> Also: MILDLY GRAPHIC STUFF AHEAD.

Sigrid had a panicky moment when she couldn´t find the red string right away. It appeared one row of trees later. Sigrid wrapped her hand around it, put the other one on Bain´s sleeve and shortly followed by Bard carrying Tilda, they started following it, in silence. Everyone was too tired and overwhelmed to talk anyway. In addition to that, Tilda was half napping on Bard´s shoulder and Bain had enough trouble with the bag of food which was handing to him as a consequence of the aforementioned Tilda-napping situation.

The forest maybe looked worse at dawn then it did in complete darkness. Deceiving shadows were now everywhere, a thousand shades of grey, the trunks were blending into the background and if Sigrid hadn´t been holding onto the thread, she would have lost it and probably never found it again. Which suddenly happened.

The string was right in Sigrid´s palm until it suddenly suspiciously loosened and after two more steps was gone. She stopped so abruptly Bain bumped into her back.

„What is it?“ he asked, clearly annoyed.

The very sharp contrast between the ever surprising palace and the absolute dullness of the forest was getting to him.

„I lost... I lost the string. Give me a second,“ Sigrid said, stepping backward in order to find the rest of the string.

„It´s broken.“

„The string is broken?“ Bard carefully lowered Tilda onto the ground.

She was able to stand but certainly wasn´t awake completely, so she continued her napping on the closest tree.

„Let´s not panic about it, okay?“ Bard said while running his hands through the grass and fallen leaves. „There are animals in here, this is a forest, something just walked through it and snapped it in half, that is all, the sun is going to rise soon and the river can´t be much further...“

„Are you trying to calm us or yourself, da?“ Bain grinned but secretly wished Bard would keep talking because they just might have been relying on the yarn way too much.

„Both of you shush!“ Sigrid hissed, freezing mid-movement. „I hear something!“

It was a rustling noise, coming from above. It took Bard less that ten seconds to recognize it – it was the same sound he had heard the first time he had wandered into that room filled with statues. That time it had been above his head too but this time it was stronger. Bard realized he had never really looked up when walking in the forest. He did now and there they were.

_Cobwebs. Cobwebs on cobwebs_.

„Forget the string,“ he said hastily, „we need to go. Now!“

„What is it, da?“

„ _Now!_ “

He grabbed Tilda and they ran. He wasn´t quite sure where they were running, it certainly wasn´t towards the barge. He just hoped it would be further from the rustling but that was only getting closer. And it was _multiplying_.

„What is it, da?!“ Sigrid repeated her question, this time much more hysterically.

„Just don´t look up and run!“ Bard yelled back.

Unfortunately, when you tell someone not to look up, they will quite probably immediately look up. Sigrid did. A huge shadow with way too many legs speeded over her head and she shrieked. Bain dropped the bag and jumped in front of his sister. Bard stopped running. There was no point, they were everywhere and so fast, running just seemed like wasting energy.

„Grab sticks, stones, anything!“ he barked and Sigrid frowned.

„I´ve heard that twice withing several hours, I´m starting to miss the kitchen,“ she mumbled angrily under her breath and tore down a low-hanging branch.

Bain picked up another and swung it around, practicing the motion. He was scared but at the same time he was really trying to persuade himself this was going to be just another fight. He had been in many fights, this couldn´t be any different, except for the... well, _giant scary spiders_.

„Da, what´s happening?“ Tilda yawned and rubbed her eyes.

„Close around your sister!“ Bard ordered loudly.

Tilda yelped when she noticed the eight-legged shadow closing in from the right. „What is it, da, what is it?!“

„It´s gonna be alright, sweetheart, we are going to be fine,“ Bard said as happily as he managed at the moment.

He very much disliked lying to his little one like this, keeping children oblivious when danger was ahead wasn´t exactly helpful, but when he imagined saying ´giant spiders are going to eat us now´ into Tilda´s confused sleepy face, he decided that was not happening.

Bain and Sigrid were now standing back to back with him, with their little sister in the middle, each of them holding a stick.

„Bain, next time we go on a rescue mission, we are robbing the town armory first, keep that in mind, because I feel _riddiculous_ , there s a spider the size of a _house_ and I´m waving _a stick_ at it!“ Sigrid gritted her teeth.

She hated even normal-sized spiders and was very happy they rarely appeared in Laketown.

„You are not robbing anything,“ Bard protested but could definitely see her point.

Those sticks _did_   feel riddiculous.

Still, he gladly jammed it into the mandibles of the first specimen that came within his reach.

They were _huge_ and so ugly and everywhere and they were making the _worst sound_ Bard had ever heard. And they were fast. Bard quickly lost track of where one spider ended and another begun. He wanted to turn back and check on his children, because among the screeching of the spiders he could only hear Sigrid´s and Bain´s screaming and he couldn´t decide whether those screams were terrified or fueled with rage. But he couldn´t look away, not for a single second, because there constantly was some ugly mug with too many eyes in his face.

Tilda between them couldn´t properly see what was happening. She tried to cover her head and not stand in anyone´s way. The creatures were kicking and biting everywhere, easily breaking the improvised defense line her father and siblings had created. Tilda more or less blindly threw several rocks but their effect was very brief. There really wasn´t any effect to speak off.

„Bain, Sigrid, grab Tilda and run!“ Bard screamed.

His stick snapped in the mandibles of one particularly angry spider. It hissed victoriously. Bard shoved half of the stick into one of its eyes. The spider screeched and retreated but Bard knew it wasn´t for long.

„Da, that´s the worst idea in the world, we are not leaving you, _I am_ not leaving you again!“ Bain protested.

„Bain, this is really not a good time! Just do what I said!“ Bard barked and kicked one of the smaller enemies away.

„He´s right!“ Sigrid took her brother´s side. „There´s like a million of them! Some of them will definitely follow us and I´d rather get eaten alive together with my father, to be honest!“

Bard allowed himself a short laugh. „You get unbelievably snarky in tense situations, do you realize that?“

„Yes, yes, I do!“ Sigrid replied as cheerfully as the situation allowed.

„I don´t wanna get eaten, da!“ Tilda protested tearfully.

Bard turned his head to her. „Nobody´s getting eaten here, darling, don´t – AHH!“

Something hurled him aside, right against the trunk of the nearest tree, and seconds later his vision turned blurry and red. He touched his forehead. It was wet, he was bleeding. Alright. That was not that bad...

Bard tried to get up but it was much more difficult than he expected. And there was suddenly more blood than he had thought at first. Sigrid´s voice yelling things that were, under normal circumstance, absolutely forbidden in their household was coming to him like from a great distance.

_You cannot pass out now. You cannot!_

Bain just lost his stick and was pushed to the ground. Sigrid swung her weapon against the spider but another one, smaller, assaulted her from behind and if it weren´t for her thick woolen coat, she would be in serious trouble. Still, she screamed in pain when the madibles dug into her, but still managed to shake it off and direct a heavy blow to its head, before she dropped on the ground too.

_They were losing._

_And if they were losing, they were going to die._

Bard didn´t like to admit it to himself but he was panicking. And then he heard the roar.

Thranduil came out of nowhere, literally with his claws out. He stormed right into the middle of the ball of spiders and Bard would´ve sworn his eyes were shining, as he clawed and ripped his way through it. The screeching quickly changed from rampant to frightened and first spiders were leaving the scene, some of them one leg shorter.

Sigrid picked up herself and Tilda an dragged them both away from the epicenter of the fight. Bain just stayed down, covering his head.

Bard watched Thranduil grab one of the beasts by the mandibles and tear its head apart, with the very same hands Bard himself had had to pull away from tugging on a strand of hair, the same hands that chased grapes around the plate, same hands that weaved flower garlands for his son...

This was the Thranduil that had gone after their lives that night. The actual _monster_. He was terrifying to look at, a rugged growling shadow, ripping apart things much bigger than him and throwing the pieces around like there wasn´t a simpler thing in the world, like he was _enjoying it_.

Suddenly it was over. The last spider limped away, leaving a trace of slimy green something behind it. Thranduil stood still for a second, looking around, maybe checking whether the children managed to run away and then he collapsed, inches away from Bain.

Bard wiped the blood off his forehead.

„Sigrid, Tilda?!“ he tried to raise his voice but the impact pushed all the air out of him. „Bain?!“

„Here, da! We are okay!“ Sigrid called from behind the tree. The pain was audible in her voice but it probably wasn´t half as bad as it had looked during the attack.

„I´m not but I´m alive, I guess!“ Bain spoke up from the dirt, with much less energy than his sister.

He rolled over to his back, letting out a yelp when he accidentaly touched Thranduil´s seemingly lifeless body

„Da, you better come look at this,“ the boy said slowly. „He doesn´t look so good.“

They gathered around Thranduil as quickly as their beaten bodies allowed them. There were several deep slashes across Thranduil´s back, large bites on his arms and he was bleeding. Heavily bleeding, the wounds were deep and Bard didn´t even want to think about the possibility those spiders might have been venomous.

„Oh this is not good, this is very bad, very, very bad,“ Bard dug his fingers into his hair. He had beyond zero idea what to do next. He sat down next to Thranduil and pushed two fingers against his neck to check for heartbeat. It was weak but it was there. Bard sighed in relief.

„First things first,“ he said. „Bain, Sigrid, show me your injuries. Come on!“

„Just scratches, da,“ Bain informed him. „And bruises. But Sigrid´s bitten.“

The girl took of her coat, torn in several places, and revealed her shoulder. Bard was very happy to state that it was indeed more of a surface matter.

„I don´t think I´ll die. If any venom was involved, I´d probably feel it by now,“ Sigrid shrugged and immediately hissed with pain. „It hurts, though. Like heck.“

„Tilda, honey?“ Bard leaned towards his youngest, who more than with herself was concerned with Thranduil.

„Da, we need to help him!“ she raised her eyes and Bard flinched back when he saw the huge tears rolling down her cheeks.

„I don´t … I don´t know if we can,“ Bard admitted.

The ground was soaking in Thranduil´s blood, his breathing was very shallow. He was big. Bard doubted he would be able to carry him alone and both Bain and Sigrid were injured. And they were really far away from the palace, probably lost.

Thranduil whimpered a little and his long fingers twitched. His veil was torn apart but his face remained hidden under now messy hair. Bard couldn´t see nothing more than his slightly parted lips.

He turned to his son: „Bain, could you help me with him? If you´re hurt, just say it though, I don´t want you to get hurt even more.“

„I can lift, my back and legs are fine, if that is what you mean“ Bain nodded.

„We have to get him away from here, those things will be back,“ Bard said, „I just don´t know how.“

„We can use his cloak and carry him in it,“ Tilda proposed. As usually, she refrained from crying and was trying to be resourceful.

„Tilda´s right! Remember how you made us a hammock at home, from ma´s old cloak?“ Sigrid said.

„I´m not completely comfortable with undressing an unconscious person, I´m afraid,“ Bard mumbled and took off his coat.

The children understood and followed his example. None of them really wanted to see what was under Thranduil´s starry cloak either. It was also drenched in his blood and it would probably tear completely under his weight anway. They spread the cloaks next to him on the ground and Bard took a deep breath. Now the difficult part was starting.

„On three, we roll him onto the coats. Be ready to jump away, it will probably hurt him a lot and some reaction might be provoked,“ he said, rolling up his sleeves. „Ready?“

Three times ´yes´, Tilda´s more determined than their siblings´.

„One, two… three!“

No reaction was provoked on Thranduil´s side, but the children flinched back nevertheless. As the hair slid aside, they, for the first time, saw his face.


	11. Three days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!  
> The updates will slow down now a bit, because my exam period is coming up and I´m really loosing control over everything. Still, I´ll try to update as much as possible to keep you happy, I´m really grateful for any heart or comment you leave me, it really keeps me going right now, because I´m having a difficult time keeping my sh*t together right now... so yeah, thank you so much <3 <3 <3

It was a miracle they managed to find the way back to the palace. Bard couldn´t believe it for a solid moment. All their backs were hurting but they safely dragged Thranduil, still unconscious, to safety. The girl stretched and ran to the kitchen to fetch some water and anythig that could be used as bandages. Sigrid was happy she had remembered to bring her small sewing kit along, hidden in a secret pocket on the inner side of her woolen vest. It was definitely going to come in handy now.

Bard and Bain, with a necessary amount of discomfort, took off Thranduil´s cloak. Bain was very much trying not to stare at his face and now he also had to also try not to stare at his torso. It was difficult. Half of it was covered in something dark, resembling tree bark or maybe stone. It ran all the way down to his collar bone and it looked painful. Thranduil´s torso was still resembling a human body, only pointier and sharper, A spine stood out on his back like dragon scales and his skin was the same dark shade as his hands. He look very strong and very fragile at the same time, and incredibly unsettling in addition to that.

Bard hesitated to touch him, it looked like it would hurt no matter where he would lay his hands on Thranduil. But he needed to fix the injuries. Bain helped his father turn the wounded one on his stomach, carefully brushing Thranduil´s hair off his face. Sigrid and Tilda returned carrying water and some old tablecloths. Tilda audibly gasped when she saw Thranduil´s injuries.

Bard hated stitches, on himself or anyone else, and his stomach was turning the whole time he was stitching together the cleaned up wounds. A few times Thranduil slightly flinched but he was still so deep in his oblivion that all his reaction was limited to this and an occasional whimper. Bard was glad. This wouldn´t be any easier if he was awake.

Sigrid helped with the bandages. Years and years of fixing Bain´s bruises made her hand steady and sure when it came to bandaging. She fastened the ends and tugged them in. Then Bard ran to the room where he used to sleep during his stay, grabbed every pillow he could find, blankets and sheets, and Tilda made a comfortable looking nest right in front of the fireplace from them. There was no chance of getting Thranduil anywhere else.

Bard was exhausted. He was looking and Thranduil´s strangely distorted face that looked so calm at the moment, and couldn´t imagine just l _eaving_. But at the same time, keeping his children here for another day was unthinkable.

Can the kitchenware take care of him? Probably not.

„Da, I think you should stay with him ´til he gets better,“ Tilda spoke and it was clear she meant it.

Sigrid didn´t share her opinion one bit: „Yes, that would probably be a safe thing to do but da has to come home! That was the point of this whole thing! To get da home!“

„I know!“ Tilda raised her voice. „But look at _him_!“

Bard was thinking so hard his head started hurting. He knew he had to stay, otherwise he wouldn´t be able to sleep soundly ever again, knowing he had left someone, who had twice saved his life, wounded and alone in a forest crawling with predatory spiders. But he also knew he couldn´t stay because the children were and should be his priority.

„I too think da should stay with him for a while, Sigrid.“

Tilda turned to Bain with a suspicious look. His support was unexpected, but clearly genuine.

„The time here is different, remember? If da stays with Thranduil for a month, he´ll really be gone for only three days!“ Bain continued. „We can do three days without da!“

„I guess…“ Sigrid didn´t look so sure. „But wasn´t it you who pointed out that if da isn´t home and Thornsdyke finds out, he´ll take me and force me to marry him, huh?“

„I am already crafting a perfect lie,“ Bain smiled and winked at his sister.

Sigrid didn´t want to be so selfish to demand Bard would come home just because she was _scared_ but at the same time a small voice in her head whispered that it was kind of his duty as a parent. Sigrid had to shush it very hard before she could persuade herself that they really could go three days without da. Just three days. It would pass in a snap of fingers.

* * *

Thranduil woke up to to a muffled humming and something hard was pushing him in the back. At first it was just uncomfortable but then straight up painful. He reached for it. It was a spoon. It had accidentaly wandered into his blankets and when he had turned, he had trapped it underneath him. It was slightly bent, but smiling and humming. Thranduil released it from his grip and it happily wobbled away in the direction of the kitchen.

He tried to sit down but pulling and pain in his back, shoulders and left side hinted it was better to stay down for now. Thranduil had troubles recalling what exactly had happened. His veil was gone, together with his cloak. The fire almost went out already and he was a bit cold, since the mostly withered tunic wasn´t of any help when it came to warming someone.

He was slowly recalling the previous events. The fact that someone had attended his wounds meant they were alive, at least some of them, hopefully all of them. Thranduil turned to his side, groaning with pain. Fortunately it was strong enough to keep his thoughts away from being all alone again.

„Ah, are you awake?“ Bard´s voice came from behind him and made him flinch, which resulted in more pain.

Thranduil grittend his teeth. He would have to be very careful with his movements in the following days. Then he immediately realised another thing and his hands flew up to his face. Bard sat down next to him and put a bowl of water and clean bandages into his lap.

„Seriously?“ he smiled. „That is your biggest worry at the moment?“

„I was wearing that veil for a reason,“ Thranduil said in a defeated tone, „I didn´t want you to see this.“

„It´s just another part of your… condition,“ Bard shrugged, „and frankly, I don´t think it´s all that bad. Opposite, even.“

Thranduil´s uncovered eye widened. „Opposite?“

Bard gestured at him to turn around, so he could access the bandages. „I think you are still beautiful. If that´s is what your concern is.“

Thranduil shook his head. „I don´t care for beauty,“ he said, „not anymore. But it is never easy to reveal one´s own monstrosity to someone.“

Bard didn´t say anything to that. At this moment presuading Thranduil that he was _not,_ absolutely _not_ , in any way imaginable, a monster, would be hypocrisy. He was still too shaken from what he had witnessed in the woods to attempt such kind of conversation, he couldn´t judge the Thranduil before the curse but coming from what they had come to know about him, he probably deserved to be cursed, at least a tiny bit, maybe not this much, but a teeny tiny bit? Yes, certainly.

Somehow, Thranduil _was_ a monster. He was turning into one, against his will, there were new instincts that clearly could overpower him when necessary, his body was losing its original shape to new, undeniably monstrous features. That was what made him a monster, his _physique_. There was no way around it.

„Why did you stay?“ Thranduil asked.

 „You saved my family. And me, twice. I couldn´t possibly let you bleed to death or get eaten by spiders somewhere in the woods.“ Bard said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Thranduil figured that was just something people did. They stayed with each other, they felt indebted, they made voluntary choices that could jeopardize them in order to save someoone else. It was stupid and beautiful.

„Will your children not mind staying in such a dreadful place?“ Thranduil turned to Bard.

„I sent them home,“ he replied.

„You…why?“ 

„They gave me three days,“ Bard said. „That means you have approximately one month to get well. They can manage, at least that´s what they told me, I guess I am not being the greatest dad for listening to them, but Tilda wouldn´t even let me come home, I suppose. She has already grown very fond of you, which is interesting, because she doesn´t really form connections this fast…“

Thranduil didn´t know what to say. He let Bard talk and shifted his look to the slowly dying fire, clutching his chest where the small fluttering sparkle of hope was making a happy little dance.


	12. I spy with my little eye...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I´m currently in hell so please bare with me for a while, the first part of the worst is going to blow over in two weeks and then I´ll be in the eye of the hurricane for a while, where I hope to get more done.   
> Still, I produced another short-ish chapter. Thank you for your support and feedback, it´s kinda keeping me alive right now :)
> 
> Y´all have a nice Easter egghunt or whatever is the Easter tradition in your area! <3

„I´m sure Ethel will help us,“ Bain said confidently.

They were sitting at the table, talking with voices lowered, constructing the perfect lie he had mentioned earlier.

„We can tell her that da is staying with a sick friend but we don´t want to let anyone else know, for obvious reasons. That is not even lying,“ he continued.

„She could come to the house,“ Sigrid took the word, thinking outloud and turning a spoon in her fingers. „People will see her and think da´s really sick!“

„Tilda? What do you think?“ Bain turned to his little sister, who was doodling a suspiciously familiar horned creature on a stained piece of yellowish paper.

She raised her head, clearly away with the fairies. „Huh?“

„Nevermind,“ Bain sighed.

„Let´s do it then?“ he looked back at Sigrid, who nodded vigorously, probably afraid she would change her mind about it the very next second.

Bain clapped. „Alright!“

Three days. Then da would be back, Thranduil hopefully well, and everything would be relatively back to normal. But still, right now Bain couldn´t help but be excited. A little adventure like this was a nice distraction in a place such as Laketown. He just had to try not to think about the horrible consequences this could possibly have.

„I´ll go fetch Ethel,“ Sigrid got up.

She was very tense and did not smile properly once since they had left the woods. Bain blamed himself entirely because he had put that paranoid thought about Master into her mind in the first place. It was hard to distract her from such an unsettling scenario. But on the other hand, it was good she looked worried. Da was  _sick_ , after all, wasn´t he?

The activities of Ethel were something that was generally frowned upon in Laketown but nobody had ever done anything to stop them because the bottom line was, the town needed her. Ethel was a medicine woman of sorts. Sure, there was a town doctor, but there were ilnesses he couldn´t help with. Ethel´s "heathern herbs", as some called it, could. Everyone in town had resorted to visiting Ethel at some point, though only few would admit that out loud. She had the appearance of a fairytale hag, but a very elegant one for that matter. Besides knowing her way around the potplant garden she was a skilled seamstress as well. The women would often giver her their old dresses and she turned them into a bit excentric but beautiful parts of her own wardrobe. One certainly wouldn´t miss her at the market place.

No elaborate explaining was necessary, Ethel immediately understood what was going on, even more than the children had intended to let on. Same as everyone else in the town even she was aware of Sigrid´s efforts to keep Master out of her hair and Master´s efforts to get there, and at the same time was among those rare few who could actually understand why Sigrid would rather eat broken glass then agree to Master´s proposals. If Bard wasn´t home or sick (Ethel silently agreed with herself to play this little game), the girl was an easy prey and Ethel was not going to live to see such thing happen. They walked back to Bard´s house making smalltalk. Sigrid relaxed a bit next to the old woman chatting about how nicely this and that was growing. She was just started to think that this was actually going to be easy when the unnaturally wide and creepy smile of Alfrid Lickspittle. He clearly posessed the miraculous ability to show up whenever anyone from Bard´s family dared to feel a bit good about something.

„Alfrid, just... no,“ Sigrid sighed before he even opened his mouth to greet her. „I´ve never been less in a mood!“

„Oh dearie, is something the matter?“ he raised his unibrow.

Sigrid grunted and tried to walk around him but he was quick to step in her way. „Would you mind if I accompanied you?“

„Take a wild guess, my good sir,“ Ethel scoffed and pushed Alfrid aside without hesitation.

„Nobody´s talking to you, old bag!“ he hissed at her, shaking his fist.

Sigrid had a bad feeling when he in fact _didn´t_ follow them.

* * *

„You were absolutely right, Master. Something is going on,“ Alfrid said and refilled Thornsdyke´s cup.

The Master wiped the grease off his moustache and a content smile spread on his face.

„Oh really,“ he said, examining a small tomato from up close, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. „Do tell me more, Alfrid. I love good news after a nice meal!“

Alfrid stayed standing behind his chair and lowered his voice, when he spoke again. There were other servants in the house and many of them probably liked Bard way better than Master. Alfrid didn´t approve but he sure was aware of it.

„I met Sigrid today in the streets. She was with that old witch and she looked very distressed. Someone in the family is probably sick. And considering I haven´t seen Bard since the market, I assume it might be him.“

Master´s eyes lit up. „Don´t say! The man works so hard, it must have finally taken a toll on his health! What a pity,“ he chuckled and bit the tomato.

But Alfrid wasn´t done yet. „My lord, now you have the chance and there are several way in which you could proceed. I was thinking a lot and I think we might even...“

„Shush, Alfrid!“ Thornsdyke raised his hand sharply. „I shall not proceed in any of them until I have confirmed that troublemaker indeed is incapacitated! Then you can shower me with the fruit of your creativity but right now stop wasting time and send a spy to that house!“

* * *

Ethel stayed for a cup of tea to make it look like she was occupied with a patient. Tilda was very happy to see her and very eager to listen to all the news about herbs and such, so while she kept the old lady company, Sigrid could have her own small panic attack.

„We ran into Alfrid,“ she whispered to Bain. „How come he is always where one needs him the least?“

„Calm down. It´s alright!“ Bain took her hands into his. „That was the whole point, no? To be seen with Ethel! Everything is working out and we have just two days and a half to go.“

It seemed over this short period of time Sigrid had reached her breaking point. She had been so calm and rational when Bard had disappeared, she´d been making snarky remarks while fighting giant forest spiders, and now she was shaking because she met Alfrid. Bain didn´t like to see such change. He hadn´t realized up to this point how much the family was dependent on Sigrid keeping her business together. Sure, he noticed that especially since the spider encounter he himself had been rather above things and pretty optimistic, but if he was being honest with himself, it was probably just some kind of shock. It would wear off and Bain didn´t know when. He envied Tilda, who was just Tilda. Either no change was happening to her or she managed to conceal it so well in her young mind that noone could see it.

„I´d still rather be with da in the forest than here,“ Sigrid sighed, looking at their entangled fingers.

Bain had the same hands as Bard.

„Really? With the man-eating spiders and curses and everything?“ Bain raised his eyebrows.

„Alright, maybe not,“ Sigrid got up and poked her brother´s forehead, „you don´t have to be a smartass about it!“

Something tugged on her skirt. It was Tilda. „Auntie Ethel says she should be going,“ she reported.

Sigrid saw the old medicine woman to the door. Ethel promised she would stop by again the next day, for the sake of keeping the act going. She was barely five steps from the house when someone ran past her, a boy not older than fifteen.

Sigrid eventually realized it was the inkeeper´s son and the bad feeling that had settled in her stomach after meeting Alfrid came back. The inkeeper´s family were the biggest gossips in Laketown. They were persuaded that everything was somehow also their business and seeing their youngest so close to their house immediately launched several scenarios in Sigrid´s head that were far from good.

„I think we might have a problem,“ she said when she returned inside.

„Again or still?“ Bain mumbled under his breath.

„I heard that,“ Sigrid frowned. „I just saw Brock. I think he was spying on us.“

„Even if he was, who´s gonna believe him?“ Bain shrugged.

Tilda stopped doodling. „Everyone,“ she said seriously.

„But he could be just coincidentally around here. Sure he´s the biggest tattletale in town but that doesn´t mean he´s spying on everyone non-stop,“ Bain opposed.

Tilda shrugged and returned to her picture. „I suppose you´l tell me that the Master heading very quickly in this direction is also coincidental?“ Sigrid said darkly and her brother could see her face grown pale.

„Yeah,“ he said weakly, „I´m sure it is.


	13. Summer snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!   
> Guess who´s sick, ueh. Anyways, don´t hesitate to point out anything that goes through your mind, I´m glad to read any comment :3 Enjoy the following moody chapter!

Taking care of Thranduil sparked some bittersweet memories, Sure, the somewhat gruesome horned creature wasn´t anything like soft gentle Myra, the deep slashes on his body in no way resembled bruised knees of his children, and the cold room with broken walls was miles away from the cozy fire-lit interior of their house… but still, Bard couldn´t help it, when he carefully tapped a piece of wet cloth over Thranduil´s wounds, it felt comfortably familiar.

Thranduil strongly disliked his current state. The weakness, aching, dependence on another being… ages of solitude taught him to rely solely on himself and this notion was violently fighting the loneliness within him. And distrust. Though Bard had stayed only to take care of him and was clearly nowhere near malevolent intentions, Thranduil found it disturbing what an easy prey he could be to a simple fisherman at the moment.

“You´re healing nicely,” Bard said on the third day.

Thranduil was sitting on his bed, brushing his hair, while his slashed back was being attented to. Bard had a strong suspicion he was doing it to mask his nervous tugging and pulling.

“Am I?” he slightly turned his head now.

“Yes. I´m no doctor but I think it´ll close up nicely. You don´t sound too happy about it though,” Bard replied.

“It still hurts,” Thranduil admitted.

Bard tugged in the loose end of the bandage and sat down next to him.

“You need to stop sleeping on your back, that´s probably upsetting it.”

“It is difficult to sleep differently when you have antlers,” Thranduil laughed and hissed when his brush got stuck in one particularly tangled part of his hair.

“I see. Let me help you,” Bard took over the brush and the hair, “I have two daughters, I know how to deal with this.”

Thranduil reluctantly let him brush the knots out. He remembered brushing Legolas´ hair like this, even with the same brush, only now the handle was battered and smoothed by ages of touching. So-metimes he would put flowers into the braids. Legolas then always looked like a tiny forest sprite, running around and laving a trail of petals everywhere.

“Thank you,” Thranduil said, after Bard had put don the brush, “I really cannot remember the last time it was not tangled and messy.”

“Should I braid it?” Bard asked automatically.

He always asked the girls whether they wanted braids, by now it was a reflex.

Thranduil looked surprised at first but then he smiled a bit: “If you want to…”

Bard noticed that the ruined part of his face didn´t move at all, when he smiled. Those soft wrinkles only appeared on the one side, breaking the mysterious mask and making him look almost human in the purest way possible. If the smile could affect Thranduil´s whole face, he would transform into someone completely different. Bard lowkey wished he could see that.

“I´m not going to lie,” he said, smiling, “this is definitely the weirdest thing I´ve ever done in my life.”

Thranduil gave him a confused look, laced with worry about what the actual meaning behind those words was.

“In a good way,” Bard added, when he saw his expression. “You know, like if I´ve stepped into one of the stories I always tell my kids when I get home.”

“Oh… so that was why your youngest asked whether I was ´the forest demon´?” Thranduil raised one eyebrow and Bard had to laugh.

“Yes, that´s exactly why. She loves those stories. Bain does too, as a matter of fact. Sigrid, well, not so much.” Bard´s voice sank into a much sadder tone at the end of the sentence.

“The death of her mother robbed her of her childhood, at least a huge part of it,” he said and his hands stopped braiding for a second. “She grew up over night and I don´t think that´s right.”

Thranduil didn´t know what to say. He hadn´t expected that braiding hair would turn the conversation in such direction and felt like he didn´t have the right to hear these things, not yet.

“And even though I know I couldn´t have done anything for Myra,” Bard continued, “I still feel like it´s all my fault. That I should have done better as a father.”

Then he stopped, as if he realised what he was saying, and conjured an apologetic smile. “I´m sorry. I ddin´t want to unload my misery on you… I just rarely get a chance to talk about this with someone and I can´t discuss this with my children, naturally.”

“I do not mind,” Thranduil said. “I have not had a chance to talk to anyone about anything for quite a while, so I understand.”

“So, the bottle of wine is a horrible listener?” Bard asked and Thranduil laughed.

“The worst!” he admitted, glad the heavy atmosphere had dispersed. “And I cannot imagine I would talk about such heavy matter with enchanted kitchenware, really.”

“That would be a bizzare thing to both do and witness. Even in here,” Bard grinned.

The wind brought in several fallen blossoms from who knows what tree and now Bard picked a few of them up and added them into the braid, as he sometimes did with Sigrid. Thranduil affectionately brushed his dark fingers over them.

“So pretty,” he whispered.

Then he looked up to Bard: “I can show you where they grow.”

* * *

They were walking slowly for almost an hour, side by side, for a while even hand in hand, because Thranduil knew the tricky spots of the forest paths way better than Bard, so he kept him from falling. For the first time since he had gotten there Bard perceived the forest as truly beautiful, not spoiled by any sense of danger, inappropriateness or tension. The leaves above their heads were golden, letting through just enough light to make it feel like a cozy living room, the air smelled like the flowers in Thranduil´s hair and the grass was just asking to be roll-ed around in. The tree trunks, as old and wrinkly and huge as anywhere else in the forest, looked like friendly old men around here. Bard almost expected a flock of fairies to emerge from behind one of them. Instead the big velvet butterflies he had already met, rose from a cluster of bushes and accom-panied them for a while.

“This place is unbelievable,” Bard said.

“Gorgeous, is it not,” Thranduil smiled proudly. “I have ceased to call it ´my kingdom´ages ago, I do not think I have the right. It is so much more than that. Noone can rule this place, it has a mind on its own Careful here, watch your step.”

A system of roots was raising from the ground in front of them, miraculously forming a nice and sur-prisingly even set of stairs. Thranduil took Bard by the arm and helped him up, pushing the vegetation out of the way. Bard was clinging to Thranduil´s sleeve, avoiding the thin branches and then suddenly Thranduil pulled him up and Bard found himself standing in a sea of pink. He was only able to gasp, the sight took all the words away.

The wind was chasing the loose blossoms and petals all over the field, it was like snow, only in the middle of a summer day. The air buzzed with the sound of giant fluffy bumblebees that heavily floated above the thousands shades of pink that covered the field. Such a place could only exist in a dream.

Thranduil held out his hand once more, inviting Bard to follow him further. They stepped onto a small hidden path made from neatly cut planks, completely hidden under a layer of petals, which were lifted in the air with their every step and spinning around their ankles and knees.

“This plant is one of the wonders of my world,” Thranduil spoke. “It is a tree, though one can hardly tell. Its branches create a strong firm structure you can actually walk on, as you see. Families used to come here, children would play while parents talked. I think there are still a few seats left somewhere, everything else was overtaken by the nature ages ago…“

Bard let him lead, still barely able to think clearly. All his senses were overwhelmed but that one thought that seemed to be reccuring at every possible occasion, popped out again.

_Tilda would love this._

“This place is filled with memories,” Thranduil continued.

So were his eyes. The painfully blue sky reflected in them and Bard knew he was lost in the past. He himself tried to imagine the pink field alive with children´s laughter and clouds of petals around their heads, groups of adults in beautiful gowns sitting around, chatting and casually brushing the summer snow off their shoulders…

“Where is everyone?“ Bard asked as it occured to him how much deadness and emptiness was in fact hidden under this magical display.

“After the curse fell upon the realm many left. They took their things and left because why would they stay. Those who happened to be at the palace, those are, as you know, still there,” Thranduil replied.

A bumblebee bumped into his knee, shook confusedly and crawled up into his lap, where Thranduil started petting it gently.

“Even if I managed to find a way to break the curse, I would be alone for the rest of my life,” he continued. “Most of my people left in fear of what I have become and what I might do to them. Those who are still with me are going to blame me for ruining their lives, and I cannot even bring myself to think what Legolas will say. But I would rather have that than loose everything for good.“

His voice gained a defensive, rebellious tone at the end.

The bumblebee felt the sudden change of his mood, squirmed out from under his palm and buzzed away.

Bard stayed silent He wanted to be comforting but Thranduil´s random leaps into tragic realizations often caught him off guard. There had been quite a few of them since the children had left and Bard hoped in the near future he would learn how to predict and prevent them, because they were scary and had a bitter sense of inevitability about them.

Thranduil bowed his head and spoke again. “I am sorry. I feel like almost every conversation we have leads to this. You must be tired of hearing again and again and again… And I barely even asked about your life! No wonder the way out have not opened to me yet. I have not learned anything.“

He covered his eyes with one pointy hand and Bard suspected immediately that it was to hide tears. He took Thranduil´s other hand and clasped it within his own, their ultimate gesture of support, so powerful and common at the same time.

“What is my struggle against yours,“ Bard said and Thranduil looked up to him, surprised by the serious yet passionate tone of his voice.

“Sure, the times are tough, we don´t have money to spare and I had to fight for my right to raise my children on my own but among all that we had each other. We had _someone_ ,“ he continued. “You are here alone, surrounded by statues and talking things, carnivorous spiders and ho knows what else! For ages. So don´t apologize. I want to help you.“

Thranduil stared motionlessly into the stern, determined face of his companion, clutching his hand more firmly than he was realizing. Bard´s eyes looked out of both of their worlds in the sun, shining as if they belonged to a lion or a similar, slightly rugged yet majestic creature. Thranduil noticed a few silver hairs on his temples. They would have went unnoticed if the sun hadn´t made them glitter. They added a hint of fragility to the otherwise strong figure Bard posed in this light and with those words on his lips.

“What did I do to deserve such kindness? To deserve you?“ Thranduil asked, painfully aware of the tremor in his voice.

“Our encounter had not been anything but pain and bruises and danger for you. Why would you help me?“

“Haven´t it occured to you yet?“ Bard asked.

Thranduil shook his head. “What was supposed to occur to me?“

“That I might be it,“ Bard said simply. “Your _way out_.“


	14. If I could give a gift to you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo! here I go with another chapter! Things´ll start happening again now, pinkie promise! Enjoy and lemme know what you think ;).

Those words remained hanging between them long after they had left the pink fields. Thranduil was thrilled at the realization Bard had thought about this too, and at the same time ashamed because all his previous thoughts had come back to haunt his conscience. He couldn´t possibly say ´ah, of course that has occured to me, I was this close to plotting how to keep you here for as long as possible whether you like it or not´. Though his thoughts about it had never been downright vicious, now Thranduil´s skin crawled at them because now he knew Bard´s children and had seen what he would have been taking the man away from.

He wasn´t any closer to breaking the curse but it was exhilirating to know he was no longer alone. Bard offering his help was, in fact, as close to Thranduil´s realistic hope of ever being free as possible. It was no wonder that after Bard had said those words Thranduil had plunged himself around his neck, almost knocking them both off the seat and immediately whining with pain because his wounds were still very sensitive. Bard had to re-do his bandages once they had returned to the palace because some of them went loose during this unexcpected outburst of physical affection. But Thranduil didn´t seem to mind. He obediently sat still, only tapping one of his hooves on the floor, while Bard was fixing him up. But there already was something different about the way he held his head and carried himself in general and Bard was truly amazed at what a little sparkle of hope can do.

Even the kitchenware noticed when it was serving dinner. Though usually they dined facing each other, sitting at the opposite sides of a long heavy table, this time Bard picked up his plate and moved closer. Thranduil didn´t oppose, on the contrary, he seemed to be welcoming it. Bard realized that they had crossed some kind of a boundary back there in the pink field, at least he certainly did. Maybe even earlier than today. The amount of close physical contact they more or less involuntarily had had over the past days cause Bard had started to see Thranduil as less of a majestic woodland creature and more of a rather cute unfinished deer-person. For instance, chasing a single grape around his plate would have seemed inappropriate and out of character some time ago but now it looked like the exact way Thranduil was supposed to eat grapes. Still, after watching the grape win for over a minute, Bard couldn´t help it, picked the grain up and held it in front of Thranduil´s mouth until he realized what action was required of him and ate it.

* * *

“I would like to give you something,“ Thranduil said the next day. “To you and your children, to be exact. For everything you have done for me, for all the troubles I had caused and because it is the only thing worth giving in this forsaken place.“

Bard followed him into a part of palace he hadn´t seen yet, curious how this would turn out. He was ready to politely refuse any gift that would be offered, simply because he felt Thranduil didn´t owe him anything and in addition to that had never felt comfortable accepting gifts of any kind. It was a comittment of sorts. Bard would feel obliged to give something back and he didn´t have anything to give. It was an endless circle with no way out. Therefore yes, Bard tried to avoid it.

Thranduil led him into the lower levels of the castle. The curse got caught in the crevices of the walls and the air here resonated with supernatural power. The plants on the walls were moving but not in the usual manner in which plants are _supposed_ to move, no, here they resembled thin snakes curling up or stretching their bodies sticking to the stone, they were alive in the creepiest way things can be alive. It was hypnotizing to watch them but at the same time it made Bard´s skin crawl. Not that he hadn´t experience this feeling around here before.

Several small sets of stairs later they arrived to a withered wooden door. Something was buzzing behind them like bees in a hive but when Thranduil knocked twice on the wood, the buzzing stopped and was replaced by a sound resembling rustling of dry leaves.

“They are very… lively,“ Thranduil smiled apologetically. “Maybe step back a little. No danger is ahead but unexpected things could happen.“

“Define unexpected,“ Bard grinned but still made two steps back, just to make sure.

Thranduil opened the door and the corridor in which they were standing was immediately flooded by the unmistakable and alluring smell of… books. The hive was _a library_.

Thranduil had to take Bard by the hand, becaue he froze to the ground and forgot to follow his host in. All the magic Bard had witnessed since his accidental arrival into this place grew pale compared to the library. The buzzing and rustling was being caused by several dozens books flying in the air like birds, flapping their covers and pages, while their colleagues impatiently vibrated on more or less organized piles, defying the laws of gravity and pretty much everything else. The room was an adjusted cave with several artificial windows in the ceiling and shelves lining all the walls, there must have been hundreds, even thousands of book, Bard really couldn´t tell since he had never ever seen more than five books in one place before, but it was definitely impressive to look at. To think all of these were alive was somewhat terrifying, he certainly wouldn´t want to encounter an angry flock of woodland literary tradition of this size.

“Do not be afraid, pet one,“ Thranduil said, “or ten, as you please because they are yours now. Folk tales, the myths of my people, even stories of Laketown´s history. Even I alone cannot tell all that is in here. But I do believe your children will enjoy this. All the stories Tilda can imagine.“

Bard took a while to find his words. Thranduil was right, Tilda was going to go crazy over this, new words to learn, new stories to explore... she hadn´t said anything yet but Bard had a strong suspicion those rugged thin books they possesed had stopped fullfiling her needs a very long time ago. And his stories couldn´t satisfy her curiosity forever.

But there was more to this. Bard remembered very well how Laketown had reacted to the fact that he had taught his children to read. The town had barely processed that a lowly fisherman even _knew_ ho to read and he had had the nerve to extend some knowledge to his little ones. Peasants weren´t supposed to be educated, education meant thinking, thinking meant too much individualism and too much individualism could easily lead to disatisfaction with the system, which was the last thing the upper classes needed, not to mention the _ruling class_.

No, books were only for wealthy young men, maybe some poetry for equally wealthy young ladies, but not too much, only enough to make them nice little trophy wives who could entertain their husbands but not get distracted from their other duties. The daughters of a fisherman certainly weren´t supposed to be sitting at the end of the pier, reading. Everything was just wrong with that picture, according to the good folk of Laketown.

And now Thranduil, who might be cursed, but still was technically a royalty, gave Bard and his family a library, not only acknowledging that he, a peasant, was worthy of education, but even extending that idea to the girls. Bard could only imagine how differently were women treated in Thranduil´s kingdom back then when there had been a kingdom.

“Bard?“ Thranduil´s voice pulled him back into the moment.

“It´s amazing,“ Bard said finally. “Thank you. I love it, the kids will love, it´s… it´ s unbelievable, thank you so much. I don´t think I really deserve it.“

Thranduil smiled, relieved. “I was afraid I had lost you, you seemed… overwhelmed,“ he said.

“´Overwhelmed´ would be an understatement,“ Bard admitted.

He reached up and caught one book mid-flight. It shuddered a little, but grew accustomed to his touch pretty quickly and started acting like a normal non-enchanted book. It was a collection of stories by someone whose name sounded like they could be from Laketown.

“Does _he_ know his curse did this?“ Bard asked, carefully flipping through the pages. “Is he aware that he had turned books into birds, animated the kitchen and overall done all this stuff? Doesn´t it upset some sort of a balance?“

Thranduil shrugged. „I cannot tell. But I am grateful for these little miracles. It weighs out the daily encounters with decaying petrified bodies of my court. I think several actual birds might have accidentally been here when the curse struck, some of these books are in fact empty and their covers looks suspiciously… birdy.“

Bard looked up from the book. “That´s creepy.“

“Certainly is,“ Thranduil agreed. “Have you thought about what would you like to eat for lunch today?“

* * *

Thranduil was suspicious of the good mood that had overtaken him since their trip to the pink fields. He wasn´t used to being even remotely happy, he was always at least lowkey miserable, he felt _obliged_ to be at least lowkey miserable, that was the point of the curse after all. But Bard´s rough energy was getting through to him, suddenly he could genuinely relax, he could laugh from the depth of his heart, and there were moments he even forgot he was, in fact, a monster.

Before he even noticed, Thranduil had grown to really like certain things about his human companion. Small habits stemming from Bard´ssubconscious, like putting a non-existen strand of hair behind his ear, tapping the fingers of one hand on the knuckles of the other whenever his hands weren´t busy with anything else, biting his lower lip. All those things he would usually notice when the affection would start building up.

Was the affection building up? Thranduil wasn´t sure. After being alone for so long, he couldn´t tell what was liking or love and what was just sheer gratitude that someone had stayed by his side. Whatever it was, it was growing, no matter how many times Thranduil postponed exploring it. He was afraid that if he as much as poked the feeling with one more thought, it would run away like a terrified deer. And whenever he tried to recall what it had been like when he had fallen for Legolas´mother so he could make a comparison, he had to stop. Partly because it was making him beyond sad and partly because he felt silly comparing the two. There was no way he could be falling for Bard. Thranduil had just forgotten how it felt being really excited about someone. That was all. Yes.

He was almost sure of it.


	15. Meanwhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A short one for today, because I don´t feel that great, so now I´m off to bed :) Enjoy!

“I assure you, my father will be perfectly alright in a few days. It´s nothing more than a common cold. Ethel came to give us some herbs for tea. He will be back at work in no time.“  
Sigrid stood her ground between the door, shielding the view of the interior with her shoulders. Master Thornsdyke´s fake expression of concern wasn´t fooling her for a second, since Alfrid was standing right behind him with a a smug half-smile. Could they know she was lying? Sigrid never considered herself a skilled liar as she never had to practice this ugly habit much. Did Brock tell them?  
“That is such a shame, my dear, well, be a doll and tell him to get well soon,“ Thornsdyke smiled and rocked back and forth on the heels of his expensive shoes.“Is there anything I could possibly do for you?“  
“I appreciate your concern, my lord, but no, I don´t think so,“ Sigrid replied. “Now if you excuse me, I have to attend to my father´s needs.“  
“Well, it is good to know that she had no problem lying to my face,“ Thornsdyke scoffed when the girl closed the door right in front of his nose. “Fetch the guards, Alfrid.“

  
* * *

  
The town´s guards were never happy to deal with Bard´s family. No matter how trained and skilled they were (which, quite frankly, wasn´t all that much), it always involved bruises and black eyes for them. Both the boy and his father sure knew how to throw a punch and when one was going to jail anyway, they did not hesitate to throw one (or ten), the older girl was always armed with a pan (and despite breaking quite a few noses already, she was miraculously never arrested, which was considered very unfair by the wntire troop), and the youngest one was biting like crazy.  
But Thonrsdyke payed them good money for keeping his wannabe kingdom safe, so when Alfrid appeared, they tightened the belts on their helmets, took several very deep breaths and went to do their job.  
To the immense surprise of the captain, there was no father to be arrested, only the kids. The man stalled a bit, uncomfortable with laying hands on the underaged in such way, but seeing Thonrsdyke´s face all red and bloated with anger, he quickly realised that if he didn´t throw Bain in jail now, his own kids wouldn´t eat meat for at least a month. And if his men didn´t bring Sigrid to the Master´s house, his kids wouldn´t eat meat ever again, because he would loose his job and considering all he had been forced to do under the Master´s command, he would probably not get another one in this town ever again.  
Naturally, the children absolutely refused to go in peace, at least the older ones. Tilda, upon realizing that they had been ratted out (Brock was going to get it), bolted towards the docks. Her siblings realized, where she was heading, and tried to occupy as many guards as possible, making loads of unecessary noise that would attract the neighbours and hopefully provoke some disapproving looks. It wasn´t difficult, apparently Sigrid and Bain were the guards´main interest. Two men grabbed Sigrid, getting kicked in the shin and elbowed to the ribs, right between the plates of their light armor, and followed Thornsdyke and Alfrid. Their colleagues were having a bit more trouble with Bain. There were three of them and they couldn´t help but exchange looks that said ´boy, that boy grew up fast´.  
Sigrid was bubbling with both rage and fear, very close to losing control and yelling profanities, but so far she resorted only to kicking and punching. If Thonrsdyke was about to drag her to the oltar, she would spit in his face right there and happily get thrown behind bars herself. That was not going to happen. Sigrid was already thinking about thousand ways to boycott one´s own wedding.  
“It will be a pleasure to serve such a beautiful mistress,“ Alfrid´s voice whispered right next to her ear and Sigrid jumped.  
“Keep dreaming, Alfrid,“ she barked back at him. “You and Thornsdyke both!“

  
* * *

  
Bain saw the heavy door of Thornsdyke´s house slam shut behind his sister. This whole thing had escalated way too quickly for his taste. He hated when things did that. He was able to think about a plan and solution for almost anything but he needed time and he doubted Master would give him that. Sigrid was fully on her own now. He was going to get overpowered any second now, there was no doubting that, he was still a kid after all, and then they were going to lock him up. No doubt about that part either. Bain feared that was the better part of what was about to unfold. Bless Tilda for her quick thinking. He could only hope she would be able to avoid getting caught and be of some help.  
Tilda thought to herself she had never ran so fast in her entire life. She headed for Bard´s barge. The chance that a little girl of her size could alone get the thing on the water was practically non-existent, but Tilda was ready to try. She had watched da and Bain row many times before, it hadn´t look that hard, but it was a big barge. She would certainly need a push at least.  
The plan was creating itself in her head as she run, fed by panic and fear what might Thornsdyke do to Sigrid. Tilda hadn´t even looked if someone had followed her. If they had, they sucked at running, that was for sure. She was running in zig zags and over as many obstacles as possible, maybe slowing herself down by doing so, but certainly not making it easier for the possible enemy behind her.  
The docs were now right behind the corner. Tilda sped up but had to stop on the pier. Da´s barge was being blocked by two other lousily parked ships. Their ropes hadn´t been fasted properly and they rocked away and got all tangled right in the spot she needed completely free to maneuvre out of the docks. Tilda sad a few bad words outloud, not feeling the slightest bit of regret or shame. So barge was out of the question.  
She looked around. She would have to borrow someone else´s boat. Something smaller. Something even she could handle but at the same time something that could carry both her and da, if she would manage to find the way in the woods.  
There. A small-ish shabby punt, half hidden under the second pier. Even the oars were there, or at least one certainly was. Tilda turned her head right and left, but nobody was in sight, so she quietly and quickly ran over to the boat. The rucus in front of their house was fortunately hogging all the attention.  
Tilda pushed the punt on the water. Now all she had to do was get to the forest, by some miracle find the palace, get da over here and all of that preferably in under an hour, which, of course, was impossible. Tilda was determined to try her best. She had already gotten a head start and she was not about to waste it.  
She was scared though. As she was rowing away from the town, all the things that could go wrong started popping up in her head and not even the physical exertion could keep her attention away from it.


	16. Cheer up, child, it will turn out alright at the end, you´ll see...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! here´s another chapter for you. The end is approaching, though I can´t tell how many chapters it will take. Anyways, I hope you´ll still enjoying this, lemme know what you think, glad to ready any comments <3

“Do you dance?“ Thranduil asked.

Bard wasn´t sure whether he heard him correctly. “Do I what?“

“Do you dance?“ Thranduil repeated the question, turning to him with a smile. “This used to be a magnificent dancing hall, hosting hundreds os both nobles and commoners every other night. Sitting here brings memories... I am also realizing it had been ages since I had danced. So, do you dance?“

“I did dance a few times with Myra,“ Bard replied, “but that doesn´t really count, we had no music, we were just fooling around on the pier. It was a really beautiful night... or maybe it wasn´t and I made it all up. I´m not sure anymore, memories are tricky.“

He looked at Thranduil, who sat quietly by his side: “Why did you ask? Would you like to dance?“

“I do not think this body would manage,“ Thranduil admitted. “There is no grace, no beauty in it anymore.“

“Nonsense,“ Bard opposed and jumped down from the stone windowsill where they had been sitting for at least an hour. “I am a fisherman! How much grace and beauty do you think _I_ have? You still have two legs and to arms, no? Come, let´s try it!“

Thranduil was looking down at his held-out arms and daring smile with a natural pinch of pessimism. He was much bigger than Bard, and had grown cumbersome over the years because of the curse. Hooves were heavier than feet, the antlers forced his head down with their weight, and his muscles were like old wood. But Bard´s sudden enthusiasm was so inviting Thranduil couldn´t resist. Could they also get a perfect night in the moonlight?

He carefully got off the windowsill and took Bard´s offered hand. “Show me how you danced with Myra.“

“Alright.“

Bard cleared his throat and put his hand where he assumed Thranduil´s waist was. It was difficult to tell under the layers of cloth. Thranduil seemed to have a different body construction when he was sitting down to a bandage change than when he stood up. Bard was frankly quite confused about his figure.

“It´s simple, really,“ he muttered, fighting an urge to laugh or at least giggle for whatever reason, “you just go forth, two small steps... like that, and then back...it´s usually much faster, more jumpy, but we don´t want to tear the place down, I suppose...“

“We certainly do not,“ Thranduil laughed, “this tempo is just fine. Am I doing it right?“

“You´ve got it! So now you can turn, see, slowly, step by step...aaahh!“

Thranduil´s cloak got tangled between their ankles, he stepped on it and they both landed on the floor with a rumble that would wake up the dead if that was really in anything´s power. Bard did not expect Thranduil´s chest to be so hard when he hit his forehead on it.

“Are you alright?“ Thranduil asked, immediately picking not only himself but also his companion up.

“You need a shorter cloak,“ Bard laughed briefly. “Otherwise we don´t even have to btoher standing up.“

“Wait, you have a scratch,“ Thranduil stopped him mid-movement and brushed his thumb carefully over the small bruise above Bard´s eyebrow.

The skin on his fingers was coarse, he could easily cause even more damage. As he got closer to Bard´s face, he suddennly froze with a strange expression.

“Is something wrong?“ Bard asked immediately.

Half of Thranduil´s face was unreadable due to his condition and the other seemed to be extremely carefully examining his eye.

“No,“ Thranduil mumbled absentmindedly, “just looking at your eyes. They are _incredible_.“

Were they? Possibly, Bard couldn´t judge. He never saw anything special about his own eyes. Myra´s eyes were incredible. The eyes of his children were incredible. Thranduil´s eyes were incredible. His? Just eyes. Brown. Not even any deep rich brown, just hazel. There was nothing incredible about them as long as he was concerned. But Thranduil seemed unreasonably captivated by them at the moment.

“The way the sun hits your irises right now,“ he spoke, “it makes it look like gemstones. It is wonderful. I could look at it forever.“

Bard felt a bit of heat in his face and thought he must have been blushing, for the first time in forever. Thranduil´s face had never been so close to his before. It was like realizing only now that Thranduil was real, physically present. Because from this distance, Bard could see every single one of his eyelashes, little imperfections of his skin and those three shades of blue in his eye. He also felt he could look at him like this forever. And there would still be new things to find.

“We should have a party,“ Thranduil broke the silence that inconspicuously appeared between them, “with music and moonlight and all of this. And dancing. And a shorter cloak.“

* * *

Rowing was hard. Even though the boat was small and Tilda was a strong child, a moment came when she had to lead the punt to a rock, lean onto it and catch her breath. Her arms were on fire, she was moving way too fast and agressively, fueled by the upset nerves. She had probably pulled several muscles too. Da was right when he told her not to overdo her efforts when rowing.

Tilda pressed her forehead against the rough wet stone and inhaled the smell of water. She didn´t cry, though she wanted to. The cry was stuck inside her and wouldn´t come out despite her trying, so she´d decided no to care about that anymore. She was starting to doubt whether this was a good idea. She _was a strong child_ but how much could she really do, especially when time and disaster were on her tail? Tilda looked at her reflection in the dark water. The girl there looked more fierce, the small waves made her frowny, a bit spooky, yet determined. As if she was saying ´unstick yourself from this moldy rock and get going, you can do this!´. Tilda stuck out her tongue at her.

She wished Bain were with her.

It was hard to tell how long she had been on the water. She had notice some chaotic movement of guards at the docks, they had been probably searching the town for her. Someone had certainly seen her, she was completely in the open, but they hadn´t bothered to go after her. They had probably assumed a little girl like her couldn´t stay on the open water without any supplies for too long, so they would be able to easily catch her once she had given up and returned to the town. Tilda was aware of the disadvantages of her hasty departure, however, she was not about to give in to their whims.

She pushed herself away from the rock and continued towards the forest. It seemed so close and yet wasn´t getting any closer! Tilda growled in frustration, pushed back the few strands of hair that had out from her bun while running, rolled up her sleeves and started rowing with more concentrated and effective moves. She needed to stay calm. Hot head never helped in these situations.

* * *

“I know what you´re doing,“ Sigrid said.

She was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, trying to touch as little as possible anything else in the room. Into which she had been rudely dragged and locked. It was a big beautiful room, a bit dusty, since it had been hardly used as she assumed, but as long as it belonged to the Master, it was _gross, gross, gross_. Sigrid was positive a rash was already appearing on her skin.

Alfrid was given the task of bringing her food and drink, apparently. He appeared at the door with a tray bearing bread, fruit and a large cup of perhaps mead.

“Huh? What are we doing then?“ he raised his unibrow and placed the tray on the heavy table by the (of course locked) window.

“You are going to be all sweet and nice and bring me food, then pretty dresses, then jewellery, to lure me into thinking that marrying that tub of ego is the best thing ever. I will refuse everything, it will be frustrating for both sides and lead absolutely nowhere,“ Sigrid said with not-so-pretended exasperation. “It´s a story that have been told a thousand times.“

Alfrid smiled and Sigrid made a grimace. He had really bad teeth. Not something that would make him a bad person, but it didn´t really help in seeing him as a good one either, it sort of just pulled together the whole mixture of rotten characteristics and bad morals and poor decisions. The unibrow also helped.

“It is, isn´t it,“ he said. “That is why the Master won´t even bother with that part. He will simply marry you, whether you like it or not. And trust me, you _will_ like it.“

Sigrid frowned. She wanted to keep an upper hand in this conversation and didn´t like the direction it was headed in. Because now Alfrid was about to reveal their lever and she already had a faint idea what it was.

“Have you forgotten? We have both of your siblings.“

_Both_. Sigrid clenched her fists, trying not to show anything in her expression. So they caught Tilda, she thought. What have they done with her? Have they thrown her in jail too, a little girl? Was she at least in the same bloody cell as Bain?

Sigrid was boiling with anger but despite that she heard herself reply with a snarky “And?“

“And,“ Alfrid continued and his voice filled with self-satisfaction, “if you don´t want your dear brother to march away in a nice new shiny soldier´s uniform, you better shut your trap and do as the Master orders!“

“Oh you are full of it, Lickspittle!“ Sigrid stood up sharply. “We´re not in a war!“

“There´s _always_ a war somewhere! Nothing easier than to contribute with a troop of strong, young soldiers!“ Alfrid grinned.

Then he quickly moved to the door, because Sigrid threw an apple at him.

* * *

Under normal circumstances, Bain wouldn´t get too flustered about being in jail. Sure, the bed was hard and the whole place smelled like piss, but heck, it wouldn´t be for long.

But now he was constantly pressed against the bars, waiting for the guards to bring in Tilda. Everytime he heard steps, his heart almost stopped, buut she hadn´t show up. She´d managed to get away.

That was the good part. The bad part was Bain still had to worry about Sigrid. He had no idea what was going on with her and since the guards knew even less than him, listening to their chit-chat outside the cell was of no use to him.

After he stopped the bleeding from his nose and pulled out a loose tooth from the back of his mouth, he searched his pockets. He had a lot of them and usually they contained something useful. It wasn´t completely impossible that there could be one of Sigrid¨s hairpins. Bain could pick a lock. Maybe. He had done it only once before and was pretty sure that time it had been mostly about luck, not skill. If someone had asked him how to do it, he wouldn´t know what to tell them exactly. Still, these thoughts were pointless, because so far he hadn´t found anything, except for a piece of string. Like that was going to help.

Bain sighed and slumped onto the unsatisfactory bed. Many random parts of his body were hurting, he could still taste blood in his mouth, but most of all he hated the helplessness and inability to do anything besides sitting and staring at a wall. His thoughts wandered over to Thranduil. Bain smiled. That would be something, if the beast swooped from above at the Master and all his brainless minions! They wouldn´t know what to do first – scream for mercy or soil themselves, morons. He would rip them apart like rag dolls...

Bain shook his head as the image took a very dark turn. No ripping apart. Just a proper butt-kicking would do nicely.

A noise rose on the street. Bain moved to the window immediately. A small mob had gathered around Alfrid, who climbed on top of an empty box to make himself bigger. He over-dramatically cleared his throat before he started speaking.

“By this we announce proudly and happily, that the Master of this town will tomorrow before noon take Sigrid, the daughter of Bard, to be his wife! He wishes to share his happiness with you and in his generosity he invites you all to join the newlyweds at the wedding reception!“

An applause followed, accompanied by several loud exclamations in favour of the marriage.

Bain punched the wall.


	17. Both a little scared, neither one prepared...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Sorry I kept you guys waiting. The state exams are upon me and I cannot tell when the next chapter will appear. I´m finally getting to the parts I was looking forward to the most, so I won´t probably be able to go on a hiatus, because my priorities are all over the place... but it might take a while. So please bear with me!  
> I hope you´ll enjoy this chapter! Lemme know what you think! <3  
> Also, you can now buy me a coffee, if you feel like it! (https://ko-fi.com/barbss) ;)

“Be honest. Is this too much?“Bard turned to the salad bowl.

A few days (or weeks, who knew, the time in this area was really all over the place) he wouldn´t even consider voluntarily talking to a bowl without loosing his marbles and now, well, here it was. The bowl was sitting on the table, occasionally wobbled and critically observed Bard preparing for the ´party´. Although the idea had sounded fun at first (and it still sounded fun now) for some reason Bard was incredibly nervous. The whole time he had spent here he had been wearing his own clothes, which weren´t necessarily bad for a fisherman but were absolutely unsuitable for anyone of any higher status. He washed them regularly in the river to keep them usable, so they weren´t dirty, but the idea of wearing them to... oh, let´s just call it a party, was riddiculous to him.

Hence the decision to more or less secretly raid Thranduil´s wardrobe. Initially Bard hadn´t been sure whether Thranduil even had a wardrobe, but the kitchenware had been more than happy to point him to it. It was in Thranduil´s bedroom, only very well hidden. Come to think of it, Bard had never seen Thranduil in anything except for the shimmery glittery cloak that somehow stayed clean and whole through everything. Bard couldn´t remember whether there had been any damage to it after the confrontation with spiders. The curse had some really neat side effects.

Bard wondered whether it had affected any other clothes Thranduil had. Upon opening the wardrobe, he decided that... maybe. All the pieces were gorgeous, the fabrics were incredible, but something was hopelessly withered while other things looked shiny new. Bard had to laugh. Nothing here was even remotely in order. Apparently even as a human, Thranduil seemed to have a larger frame than Bard. It had taken forever to find something that wouldn´t be too loose in the shoulders. Bard eventually settled on a silvery coat-like thing that fit quite nicely. Still, in combination with his rather rugged appearance, he wasn´t sure he could pull it off. So he asked a salad bowl for an opinion. How riddiculous was that.

“Have you ever brushed your hair? Ever?“ the bowl asked with sincere concern.

“Don´t get snarky with me,“ Bard frowned at it but had to admit the bowl sort of had a point.

Naturally he _did_ brush his hair, but on account of it being quite thick and wavy, it got tangled way too easily. He grabbed Thranduil´s hairbrush and tried his best, while the salad bowl instructed him on where the brush was needed. Bard didn´t think it was doing much of anything but the bowl seemed content, so he just went with it.

* * *

Thranduil didn´t know how to fight the giddiness that had settled inside him after their idea to have a party, so he had simply decided to just put flowers on everything. There were thousands of them, everywhere, so why not bring them all inside and fill the ball room with them? He picked them up in armfuls, occasionally tucked one or two behing his ear or somewhere else in his hair, and when he finally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he resembled a human-shaped blossoming tree. He kind of liked it. Maybe Bard would like it too.

They hadn´t settled on any specific hour, since there was no telling what time it was and the time did as it pleased anyway, but the mutual agreement seemed to be that they would meet after sunset, whenever that would occur. The ball room lacked most of the ceiling and Thranduil couldn´t wait to give Bard that dance literally under the moon and stars. It was going to be more magical than anything else in this place, and boy, was there some serious magic in this place!

Thranduil realized he was looking forward to something in what felt like ten thousand years, and his mind had troubles coming to terms with it. He had been kind of looking forward to mornings since Bard had become a part of this creepy household, but it hadn´t been the same as the genuine excitement and joy he was filled with now. He actually caught himself trying not to show it in any way, as if scared that someone was watching and could find it inappropriate. With the curse and all. But still, secretly, he allowed himself a tiny giggle, just for the sake of feeling it. And it felt great.

The sun disappeared without any warning. The darkness of the night came in a wave, splashed over the palace and left everything coated in the eerie shade of dark blue. Thranduil looked up into the sky. Clear and sparkly, exactly as they wanted and planned. The moon wasn´t full but the crescent hovering above the woods was bright enough. And sharp and vaguely threatening in its shape.

Thranduil swiftly walked up the stairs, driven by a slight and unexpected nervosity. He hadn´t been to Legolas´ room in a while, maybe twice since Bard had arrived. Thranduil´s growing affection towards him made visits of his petrified child quite... uncomfortable. Thranduil felt guilty for reasons he didn´t entirely understand. He still bore Legolas´ late mother in his heart and he knew he would do so forever. The way he felt about Bard was different and yet here he was, feeling bad about it. But now he went in without hesitation, cupped Legolas´stone face in his palms and gave him a careful kiss on the dusty forehead.

“I am going to borrow your cloak for tonight,“ he whispered into his deaf ear.

* * *

Bard was lost for words when he entered the ball room. There was no air, only the thick sweet smell of hundreds, maybe thousands of flowers that covered the walls and a notable part of the floor, turning the place into a dreamy scenery, not unsimilar to the pink fields. Music was coming from a place Bard couldn´t see and on top of that, he didn´t have the faintest idea what could possibly provide music at this place. It was very beautiful though and he started humming the melody without even realizing it.

And Thranduil was standing in the middle of it, clad in the reddest red Bard had ever seen. It made his hair shine in the moonlight and overall gave him the appearance of a surreal, fantastical dream. However real and present Thranduil had seemed to Bard when they had had their awkward moment on the very same floor, now Bard was almost sure his hand would go right through if he attempted to touch him. But when Thranduil actually stepped forward and took his hand, his palm and fingers were very real and hard and coarse as usual.

“I borrowed some things... hope you don´t mind,“ Bard said, tugging on the lapel of the silver coat.

“You look wonderful,“ Thranduil smiled and for the first time it seemed like even the curse-stricken part of his face was showing some feeling. It might have been just the light but Bard like the first thought better.

“It´s difficult to put into words how you look. At least I haven´t thought of an appropriate adjective yet,“ he admitted.

Thranduil blushed and it was in a beautiful clash with the rest of him. “Am I beyond words?“

Bard nodded: “That is probably what describes you the best. You are most definitely beyond words.“

They slipped into the rhythm and let it carry them through the sea of flowers. The moon was pouring its light right down the open roof and whatever was attracting those small round owls to the palace was doing a really good job. The creatures were perched on the broken ramparts in dozens and their huge coin-like eyes were shining through the dark. A bunch of spiders ran across rhe walls in pursuit of prey that was clearly both smarter and faster then them.

Bard heard their screeching through the music and smiled, resping his head against Thranduil´s chest. He couldn´t believe he was glad to hear even those stupid spiders.

“You are feeling it too, am I right?“ Thranduil said quietly.

He was hugging Bard much more tightly and way closer than when they had tried to dance for the first time, so his hair with entangled flowers falling on Bard´s shoulder and his heart was beating against Bard´s ear. There was something a bit desperate about it.

“I´m feeling a lot of things right now, it´s kinda overwhelming,“ Bard replied. “I might even cry a bit. That haven´t happened to me in a long time.“

They stopped and he looked up into Thranduil´s face. He was way ahead with the crying – a single tear was sliding down his cheek, passing his half-dead smile on its way. Bard reacted instinctively and wiped it off.

“My wounds are all healed,“ Thranduil spoke again, “and your children will be coming for you any day now... I fear our time together is coming to an end.“

“That might be true,“ Bard shrugged, “but we won´t be parting forever! After all I´ve seen here, after I have met you, there is no way I could possibly just walk away from it all and never come back!“

Thranduil´s eyes sparkled with something. Bard continued quickly, fearing it might be more tears. “Not to mention we still have your curse to figure out! I promised, didn´t I? I stick to my promises, Thranduil. And,“ he raised his finger, “you gave us your library, remember? As if my kids would let me leave anything like that behind!“

Thranduil´s grin grew wilder as Bard spoke, and this time it certainly wasn´t the play of the lights, it was indeed fighting its way through the dark crust creeping across his face. Bard didn´t want to read too much into it.

Thranduil bowed his head and pressed his forehead against Bard´s. He felt relieved. Now there wasn´t anything lurking in the back of his mind and he could relax. His entire posture loosened up.

“If you really do come back after we part,“ he said, “I shall be the happiest beast that ever lived.“

“Don´t call yourself that,“ Bard said. “Please,“ he added, realizing it had probably sounded too harsh. “You´re not a beast.“

Something was happening and it was happening incredibly fast, Bard felt the moment approaching at the speed of a falling star, but before the star could fall into their waiting hands, a shriek cut through the air.

_“Daaaa!!!“_


	18. In the midst of all this sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am NOT doing a good job as a student right now :) Wish me luck tomorrow, because my brain is positively shutitng off, that´s why I´m writing fanfiction instead of studying.  
> So here´s the next chapter, folks, thank you for your feedback, you are making me super happy! <3  
> (If you like my writing, you can buy me a coffee! -https://ko-fi.com/barbss)

Bain was sick with worry. Genuinely, truly sick with worry, for the first time in his, still quite short, life. His stomach hurt and it wasn´t only from hunger. Right under the window of the cell people were preparing the site of the ceremony, weaving ribbons and dry flowers together, and it was just aggravating to watch. He examined the cell in every possible way. The whole prison was built miserably but this particular part seemed to have zero weak spots, no rusty locks, no rotten planks, everything was firm and yes, probably breakable, but with great difficulties and noise. Even now the guards heard Bain´s efforts and were laughing at him. Bain also turned his pockets inside out several more times, just in case something useful magically appeared in them without him noticing. Which of course didn´t happen. So he paced, sit around, clutched his aching belly and repeated to himself that everything would still be okay in the end. There was time. Not much of it, but there was.

* * *

“So you are telling me you are NOT able to catch one little kid? How _hard_ can that possibly be?! Did you even try?!“

Thornsdyke really wanted to yell at them but couldn´t if he didn´t want Sigrid to hear him. So he had to settle for grinding his teeth, clenching his fists and glaring at the unhappy troop that stood before him. Captain Redgrave didn´t raise his eyes from the ground for one second.

“She went on the lake, my lord. We didn´t expect her to...not come back,“ he shrugged. There was no point in lying about this.

“Oh so you just stood around and waited instead of getting your asses into the boats and going after her, that is some really well done job right there, captain!“ Master shoved his finger into the man´s face.

He was bubbling with rage. Redgrave clutched his helmet more firmly and made a step forward. There was this other matter that had bugged him from the moment his men had spotted Bard´s daughter on the open water.

“My lord, I would like to go after her now, if you´d allow it. I fear something might have happened to the child.“

Thornsdyke raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Really? Is that what worries you, captain?!“

“With all due respect, my lord,“ the captain frowned, “we are talking about a little girl here. Her life is potentially in danger, I feel it is my duty to ...“

“You are absolutely right, captain, it was your duty!“ the Master barked. “It was your duty to bring me that little viper! And you _failed_! You disobeyed my orders, captain, and now you want to lecture me on something?!“

He was beginning to look like a tomato that turned way too ripe and now was threatening to explode. His poorly grown moustache trembled with rage. The troops stepped away from their captain because jobs were clearly about to be lost and they didn´t want them to be their jobs. Definitely not because of Bard and his dumb kids.

“No, my lord,“ Redgrave replied with a sigh.

“I thought so,“ the Master scoffed and turned away. “Return to the docks and keep an eye on... things. You two,“ he pointed at two random guards, “patrol around the square. In case someone else feels like he has a duty to protect that disobedient trash that is that fisherman´s family. Dismissed!“

The troop was leaving the Master´s house quite distressed. Captain Redgrave felt the collected anger of his subordinates burning a hole into his nape. What he had done wasn´t exactly smart. Defying an order and then speaking up about it? What was he _thinking_? _This could have ended so badly_.

But the bitter feeling that had started as a small pinch somewhere deep in his stomach, had spread everywhere and the man felt genuinely horrible. One child locked in prison. Another one locked too, in a proverbial tower. And third one potentially drowned. Redgrave would barely consider Bard as much as an acquaintance but being a father himself, he did not want that man to come home to this.

_Where was he anyway?_

“Sir? Is everything alright?“ One of the guards carefully patted him on the shoulder.

It was the inkeeper´s oldest son. He stood at the very back when Thornsdyke was very angrily almost-whispering at them. Since the whole thing had started, this young man looked very disturbed and the black eye Bain had given him during the struggle had turned his face to a literal picture of guilt. It was his younger brother, after all, who had happily ratted the fisherman´s family out to the Master.

“Absolutely,“ the captain replied bitterly. “Downright peachy, young man.“

* * *

_He even had the dress prepared._

That was the creepiest thing imaginable. Sigrid stared at it from the bed. It was hanging over an armchair like some gross dead thing, despite it generally being very beautiful. Embroidery, gorgeous fabrics, those might have even been real pearls. It was the _purpose_ that made them so ugly.

Though her stomach growled as she had barely eaten, Sigrid hadn´t touched any of the food Alfrid or anyone else had brought into the room. For starters, it was a classical act of defiance and furthermore, she was positive the food wouldn´t stay long in her stomach anyways. She was too stressed, scared and anxious and stressed...

She kept walking around the room, hopelessly pulling and pushing on the closed window and peek through the keyhole to see if the guards were still pacing in the hallway. It was absolutely pointless, of course, but Sigrid had to have at least an illusion of trying to escape. Even if she actually couldn´t.

Alfrid hadn´t come back, which was only to his advantage. Sigrid was positive she would scratch his eyes out or at least try very hard to do so. With the whirlpool of emotions and moods inside her, there was no telling what she could do. But as the time progressed, the rage died out and only desperation was left. Sigrid returned to bed and curled up into the fetal position.

This was going to be it, the moment she breaks. She tried her best, she really did, but this was too much. Something she couldn´t fix or talk out. If she didn´t do as Thornsdyke pleased, Bain´s life would be in danger. Sigrid was sure of one thing – she´d rather be miserable for the rest of her own existence than send her brother to almost certain death on a battlefield.

And Tilda... Sigrid couldn´t hold the tears in at the thought of Tilda. That was the worst part of it so far, not knowing where she was or what they had done to her... she could have been anywhere, alone, cold, hungry, crying...

“Help me, mom,“ Sigrid whispered between sobs. “I don´t know what to do! I wanna go home...“

* * *

There was no trace of the girl coming back to the docks.

Redgrave sat down above the water and rubbed his temples. The unpleasant feeling grew some more, he was now almost positive that child wasn´t alright and the effort he put into hiding his worry was exhausting. The night was near.

The captain quietly snarled under his breath. To hell with this. To hell with Thornsdyke.

He got up, brushed off the dust and straightened the helmet on his head.

“Men!“ he barked.

The troop turned to him, ready to accept a command.

“We are going after that girl. Get the boats,“ captain Redgrave ordered, hoping he sounded authoritatively enough for them to just obey.

“But captain, the Master didn´t...“

He raised his hand. “I know, I know. I don´t care right now. We will cross that bridge when we get to it, that is, I will. You´ll get off with a slap on the wrist.“

The guards didn´t look comfortable with that premise.

“There is a little girl, alone on the open water, without supplies or necessary strength to make it through the night,“ Redgrave continued, “and _we_ drove her there. She ran away from _us_. If you want to have a dead kid on your hands, feel free to stay in the docks and wait. Those who have some integrity left, follow me.“

* * *

Tilda was positively numb by the time she reached the banks. No feeling in her arms from the rowing, no feeling in her legs from the cold. And it was dark, the forest around her was beginning to make strange suspicious sounds, shadows were coiling on the water and shiny eyes popped now and then in a bush.

“Don´t be scared, don´t be scared,“ Tilda repeated to herself as she was slowly pushing the punt forward. “Don´t think about the spiders, don´t think about the spiders...“

She shivered. Of course that only made her think about the spiders. She was so tired by now she wasn´t even tired anymore, as if she slipped into some sort of back-up energy state. Da must have felt like this on regular basis, considering how hard he was working and ow big the barge was...

The problem with trees was they all looked the same, especially after dark. Immediately after stepping out of the punt, Tilda realized there was no way she could possibly find anything without a fire because she couldn´t see the tip of her own nose. She went through several minutes of utter despair because of it because everything around was wet and damp and how was one supposed to get some light with that. So she sat down and whimpered for a while, allowing herself to act her age for a moment.

It was a relief. The lump in her throat finally dissolved and even her mind seemed clearer, but she couldn´t sit around forever. There had to be some drier wood and a few suitable stones further in the woods. Just few steps from the banks... Tilda outstretched her arms and carefully examined her surrounding by touch before taking a step. Then again. And again. And then she was positive this was going to take forever.

A cracking sound came from the right and Tilda froze on the spot. Then something icky touched her leg and she bolted forwards, shrieking on top of her lungs. The bark of the trees she was seemingly pushing aside was tearing the skin of her palms, she fell, bruised her knee badly, got up and continued, then fell again, started crying and bleeding as a low branch scratched her cheek, got up again and ran and ran and ran...

The open path materialized as if from nothing and when Tilda tripped for the last time, she didn´t land in the dead leaves and broken branches, but dust. It made her cough. She stayed down and covered her head, expecting to be attack any second.

But nothing happened, only a distant hoot flew through the air.

Tilda carefully sat down, quietly whimpering from pain. She hadn´t thought it was possible for her to be hurting even more, but there it was. Hurting even more. She wiped the tears off and looked around.

“What the...?“

The palace was almost within the reach of her hand. A sharp incomplete moon was casually hanging above it. Just like that. Tilda was almost angry at the forest for luring her in just like that. It seemed utterly wrong. Almost like a trap. But she was too tired and beaten to care for longer than two minutes. She picked herself up and limped over to the gate. A bit of hope awakened inside her. She was here! She made it! More or less by luck and coincidence than anything else, but she made it! Tilda smiled but only for a second. The scratch on her cheek was uncomfortable.

The entrance hall was empty and so was the room with fireplace, but Tilda could hear faint music coming from... somewhere? The first floor looked dark and spooky and she immediately decided not to go there. So she did the only thing that was left to do – stood in the middle of the hall and yelled as loudly as her exhausted lungs allowed.

_“Daaaa!!!“_


	19. Wasting in his lonely tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m alive! And I passed all the state exams and I got a degree! Yaaaay! Thank you for your patience, guys!  
> Okay, here´s the next chapter. Things will hopefully now progress faster, because my summer break started.  
> Enjoy the chapter and lemme know what you think! <3

“You have to go. Now.“

Thranduil´s voice was both firm and shaky at the same time. He stood aside while Bard was hugging his child. Tilda was bruised, drenched and dirty, crying, partly with fear, partly probably with relief. She was clinging to her da´s coat with all her remaining strength and quickly muttered all that had happened to her and the others into the fabric. It was not good. Thranduil could see Bard´s hands shaking as he caressed Tilda´s back.

“She can´t go anywhere like this,“ Bard turned to him, “she can barely stand, Thranduil, could I..“

“I will take care of her,“ Thranduil nodded immediately, holding out his hands, “you have to go. Do not worry about us, she will be safe with me.“

Bard took Tilda´s pale face into his hands. She already understood.

“I promise we´ll come back for you,“ Bard said quietly, wiping off a smudge on her forehead with his thumb.

“I know,“ Tilda nodded, still snivelling quietly.

She pulled her da closer and gave him a kiss on a cheek, then she willingly parted from him and accepted Thranduil´s waiting embrace. They exchanged one last look and Bard left, purposely not looking back again, since he knew he would be overwhelmed by another worry within seconds.

“Isn´t he gonna get lost?“ Tilda asked as she watched her da´s back disappear into the dark.

“You made it, have you not?“ Thranduil said rather bitterly. “Trust the forest. I know it is difficult but try.“

“Okay,“ she snuffled and wiped her tears off.

Thranduil carried her up into the room where Bard had been sleeping for the past days, and gently let her down into the nest of covers.

“I will be right back,“ he said.

Tilda didn´t react. She wrapped one blanket tightly around her shoulders and curled up, with violet eyes still wide open, as close to the stone wall as possible. Thranduil retreated into the hallway. He needed water and some cloth to clean the child´s bruises, some food and drink perhaps too, but his mind was miles away, somewhere on the open water with Bard.

Even though he knew it was pointless, that Bard couldn´t have even reached the river yet, Thranduil turned on his heel and hurried to the giant tree. Its branches were growing high enough to see the forest and lake from them, though it was difficult to get to the top, especially when one had hooves and antlers that got in the way. But Thranduil still tore and ripped his way through and up, at the cost of a few slashes and scratches, which was absolutely unimportant and riddiculous at the moment.

The night was fading at the edges of the forest into a dull gray morning. While the moon was still hanging over Thranduil´s head, the first hints of daylight were already showing on the lake. The border of the broken time was becoming more and more visible any second. The night was going to turn into a full blown day and then back into the night before the sun would ever rise at the lake. There was no sign of Bard on the lake yet, he must have still been making his way through the forest. Thranduil knew he had to return to Tilda but stayed up on the tree for several more minutes neverthless. He needed to calm down and reorganize his thoughts, remind himself that this was still going to happen eventually, maybe not exactly this, but Bard´s departure as such. He had just hoped it wouldn´t be so soon. At least not tonight. Being torn out from a state closely resembling a dream, from a room full of flowers, from an embrace, and tossed right into this mess was almost painful.

* * *

Tilda layed motionless until she heard a careful clanking sound coming from the hallway. A salad bowl wobbled in, splashing water everywhere, followed by two goblets and several pieces of silverware. All of them looked worried and even in the light of more serious matters, it was kind of hilarious.

“Aw, you poor little thing,“ the bowl sighed at th sight of the girl, “let me take care of you.“

Tilda sat up and lifted the bowl on her lap. A folded piece of cloth was floating in the water.

“Go on, sweetie, wash yourself. We´ll patch you up then“ the bowl encouraged her.

The cutlery found its way up the blanket and was now shakily standing around, looking at the girl with a surprising amount of compassion while she cleaned up her face and hands.

“Don´t you worry about a thing,“ the bowl continued, “we won´t let anything happen to you. You are very brave, you did great.“

Tilda barely listened to it. Even though she trusted Thranduil almost unconditionally, since her child intuition didn´t recognize him as a threat, she was uneasy. The uncertainity of everything was too much for her to bear now. She didn´t want to be here, she understood she would have just slowed Bard down, but she didn´t want to be here.

Thranduil returned to the room a bit later than ´right back´. He looked taller than Tilda remembered, and less scary and disordered than before, but also a lot sadder than when he had left the room. Tilda reached for his large black hand, as he sat down next to her, and cuddled up to his side.

“I see your bruises have been taken care of,“ he noted, overlooking Tilda´s face.

He was forcing a small smile and there were still some tired flowers in his hair.

“The bowl brought me water,“ Tilda mumbled into the blood red fabric of his cloak.

It was soft and nice on her skin, very comforting.

“I will do better until your father comes back, I promise,“ Thranduil said, a bit ashamed of himself, but Tilda shook her head and snuggled up closer.

“You don´t have to take care of me,“ she replied, “I can manage.“

“But I have promised…“ Tilda looked up to his worried face. “Don´t worry about it. Maybe just tell me a story? I don´t want to think about what´s happening at home and it´s difficult.“

Thranduil shivered a bit when Tilda voiced her small request. It could have easily been thousands of years since he had a child napping on his sleeve, asking for a story in a time of crisis. Legolas had asked for stories after his mother had died, so he would not fall asleep overwhelmed by sadness. Thranduil had told him dozens, hundreds of stories from his own youth, about grandpa Oropher, about Êlil and how he met her, about the past of their forest realm… Until Legolas had fallen asleep and everything bad that had happened to them had gone away for at least a while. Sometimes Thranduil had kept talking until his voice had gone coarse and broken.

Now, with another man´s child slinging to him, he was ready to do it again. Not only to keep her fear away but his own as well. He gently caressed her still wet hair.

“You can have any story you want, little one.“

* * *

Upon entering the forest, Redgrave and his men immediately felt a strange discomfort, not very different from fear, which they would never admit to not only one another, but neither to themselves. They had heard stories about the forest, but grown men should not believe stories, especially grown men serving as the town guards. Still, this place was blood creepy. Captain Redgrave was slowly gaining new appreciation for Bard, since the man had to go through here once a week and did so for so many years. Pushing their way through water that seemed unreasonably thick and dark lasted forever. And no sign of the girl anywhere.

“Sir, I think we´re lost, sir,“ a young soldier said quietly at the back of the back of the boat.

Redgrave scoffed. “We are on a river, son. How do you get lost on the river?“

Although if he was to be completely honest with himself, then yes, they were sort of lost.

“Captain, the river just ended,“ another man called from the front.

“What on earth do you mean it ended?!“

“Well… it-it ended, sir. We´re at a dead end. Orders, captain?“

Redgrave sighed. “Alright, we continue on foot! Grab all the important thing, don´t forget the light and move it!“

Since the captain had not further specified what he considered ´important things´, the men just took anything that looked like it would come in handy, and then stepped out onto the soft black soil. Redgrave took hold of the light and headed back along the river. That seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

And it was. To everyone´s great relief they started to recognize things after a while. And to an even greater relief, they found the punt. Redgrave speeded up, forcing his men to almost jog to keep up with him. He ran into the water without thinking twice, so the first step landed him chest deep in the dark, funny smeling water. They crossed the river while inventing several new cursewords on the way, and the captain was positive his family was at the moment being cursed for five more generations. They crawled up on the other side, wet and annoyed beyond measure.

“Alright, captain, we are on the other side. What now?“

“Look for the footprints. Her boat is here, she had to get out and go somewhere,“ Redgrave replied, “I hope.“

It was very dark and the lanterns seemed to be barely working for some mysterious reason, a weird rustle was heard in the trees above their heads and the overall creepiness of the surroundings was slowly getting under their skin. Redgrave would have never guessed a grown man can be scared of a forest, but here they were.

“Got them! Sir! I think she headed this way!“ a soldier exclaimed with a notable amount of relief and pointed into nothing between the trees.

“And I think she was in a rush,“ he added.

Redgrave shrugged. “Then we should be too, I guess.“

* * *

Taking Tilda to the library was the best thing Thranduil could have done at the moment and he was unbelievably happy that he had done it. The girl was ecstatic, running around, climbing the shelves with a sudden and unexpected energy she had conjured from who knows where, opening this book, examining that book, happily squealing over another book. Finally, she found a book enticing enough to sat her down and pull her into the pages.

Incidentally, it was Legolas´favourite childhood book containing myths of the forest realm together with drawings and sketches, some of them made by Thranduil or Legolas themselves, a few of them even by Êlil. Tilda layed down with a candelabra and dove into a story. Thranduil sat down by her side and watched her. She was a very attentive reader, paying attention to every word, eve though she couldn´t possibly understand all of them. The forest language was not very different from the language of the Laketown folk, but still some expressions had to be unknown to her. She didn´t seem to mind, only whispered the word under her breath.

“Do you like my da?“ she asked suddenly, without even looking up from the book.

Thranduil almost hadn´t noticed her question. “Huh?“

“Do you like my da?“ Tilda repeated and this time she pinned her eyes straight on him. “Do you like him like my mom would?“

Thranduil felt mild discomfort, mostly because he didn´t know how to answer that. Especially since it was a child asking him. He didn´t want to be dishonest and the answer he could give at the moment would undoubtedly spark more questions on Tilda´s side.

“I believe I do,“ he said eventually, “however, it is... different.“

“Because you´re a man and he´s a man?“

“No,“ Thranduil shook his head. Several flowers fell into his lap. “It is different because my people tend to choose only one beloved in the time that is given to them. My wife has passed and since then I have not felt anything of that kind, that is why I am...sceptical and unsure when it comes to Ba... your da.“

Tilda´s fingers were circling a drawing of two lovers in an embrace.

“That´s both really nice and really stupid,“ she said.

“I suppose it is,“ Thranduil sighed, “I wish I could give you a better answer.“

“This one´s good too,“ Tilda smiled and sat up so she could steal some more flowers from Thranduil´s hair.

“Would you... like me to like your da, Tilda?“ Thranduil asked. “Who knows what will come next but if, by some miracle, matters turn out well at the end...“

Tilda shrrugged, twisting a lock of his hair around her finger. “I don´t want da to be alone forever. He´s not that old yet. So if you like him, I´m glad.“

Thranduil smiled at how adult she looked at that moment. She was an amazing, amazing little girl. He got up and shook the petals and dust off his cloak.

“I am going to bring you something to eat. You can stay and read whatever you want. This is the safest place for you right now.“

The girl nodded, fully invested in the story again. Thranduil made sure to leave the heavy door half open, so she wouldn´t feel like in a prison cell that only happened to be filled with books, and he headed to the kitchen to fetch some fruit. He felt much lighter, since he succesfully managed to distract the child from the ongoing peril, and moreover, she approved of him, which was a validation he hadn´t known he needed. Thranduil wished, with all his tired heart, that his gods would finally give him at least the tiniest of breaks. He wanted Bard and his family in his life. But at the same time, the mere thought of leadig them away from their regular world into his was repulsive to him. He knew Bard wouldn´t leave him forever, he had made that very clear. But Thranduil did not want anything out of pity or obligation. He wanted things to be real.

Like the arrowhead that just went clean through his shoulder. That was very real.


	20. The Oncoming Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here´s another chapter! Thank you all for the feedback, I´m glad you stuck around, really appreciate it! <3 I hope the next chapter is going to be up very soon, since I´m currently procrastinating cleaning my room...  
> So, for now, enjoy this one! Comments are, as always, appreciated! :3

The whole journey to the town had passed as if in a dream. Bard hadn´t had a single clear thought until his fist met the red pasty cheek of Master Thornsdyke, sending him flying into the onlooking crowd. In that moment he had woken up and found himself winded, flushed and truly unbelievably angry, his own roar still echoing through the square.

People were dead silent from both shock and expectation, as they watched Thornsdyke´s face turn even redder after the hit. A shy drop of blood peeked from between his lips. He hadn´t realized what had happened right away, he stared at Bard unsure whether the man was actually there.

“Don´t you DARE touch my daughter!“ Bard screamed on top of his lungs and the crowd flinched.

They weren´t used to seeing him like that. They never had, as a matter of fact. This was a whole new Bard and they were slowly realizing some sort of a line had been crossed. A few of them felt shame now, when they layed eyes on Sigrid who looked like a ghost in the embroidered white dress and veil that barely covered the misery in her face.

Bard turned to her. “Are you alright, sweetheart? Did they hurt you?“

She dropped the bridal bouquet and threw herself in her father´s arms. He was drenched and muddy and looked mildly insane with the messy her and dangerous defensive sparkle in his eyes. He pulled her closer and lost his breath for a second when Sigrid wrapped her arms around his neck a bit too eagerly, which was the least surprising thing at the moment. Bard didn´t want to let go of her either. He heard her swallow the sobs that had been building up in her for probably hours. She wanted to break down so badly but was fighting it.

“Tilda?“ she whispered. “Did she make it?“

“She did. She sent me here,“ Bard said, not letting his guard down.

The Master was picking himself up with the help of grunting Alfrid, the crowd started to move again and rustle. Bard pushed Sigrid behind him, she kept holding his sleeve.

“Bard! How lovely that you could make it!“ Thornsdyke snarled with a fake smile reddened by the bleeding gums.

He looked like he ate an entire cherry pie in one sitting. Which he probably had done at some point in his life.

“A bride should have her father by her side on the best day of her life,“ he continued, wiping his mouth into the brocade sleeve, “and now that we are finally all here, the ceremony shall proceed as planned!“

Four guards swiftly jumped out of the crowd, which was an embarassing amount of men to secure one man and one girl, but it was clear from the situation that this overdone use of force was needed. One dragged Sigrid back to the oltar, simultaneously keeping his distance, because he still remebered her spouting curses and kicking at the beginning of all this mess, the other three held back Bard, who turned to the people, since there was noone else to turn to.

“How can you stand here and watch this happen?!“ he shouted. “She´s seventeen! She´s basically a child! Don´t you see how wrong this is?!"

There was much less anger and much more plea in his voice now. Bard´s plan prety much ended with punching Thornsdyke, if one could even call that a plan. He didn´t know what to do now. The people coming to their senses were basically their only hope at the moment and that didn´t seem to be happening. Very few faces in that crowd showed some compassion with them, the rest was frowning at Bard and shaking their heads at Sigrid.

“There´s nothing wrong with this, Bard,“ the shoemaker said almost cheerfully, “Sigrid´s going to have a life of luxury! Not a worry in the world, servants bringing her breakfast to bed every morning, how can you possibly be upset about this?“

Bard looked around in utter disbelief. He had thought he had been losing his ground very quickly, but apparently there hadn´t been any ground to loose in the first place.

“How can I be upset about this?! Wilbur, she´s miserable! She doesn´t want this! My son´s in jail, my youngest child almost died trying to get help, for crying out loud, you all have children, there has to be someone who sees my point, please!“

“She´s standing in a wedding dress next to him, Bard, if she´s anything like you, I bet she would fight him harder than this,“ the shoemaker shrugged and several heads in the crowd nodded, sounds of agreement followed, until Sigrid tore her veil off and snapped.

“He threatened my brother!“ she screamed. “He said he´s gonna send him away, to a war! To quite probably die! What am I supposed to do, according to your infinite wisdom, huh, Wilbur?!“

Thornsdyke laughed slightly nervously and put his arm around Sigrid´s shoulders, making her immediately flinch in disgust.

“Silly girl, I said no such thing! You completely misunderstood my...“ he begun to defend himself jovially but a thunder cut him off in the middle of a sentence.

There were no dark clouds in the sky, yet the thunder was very close, as if right above their heads. Bard was the first one tu turn to the forest. The sky above it was boiling, clouds were stretching in strange shapes towards the Laketown and when the thunder sounded again, somehow it resembled the sound of shattering walls. Then the rain started to fall, not slowly, drop by drop and eventually gaining intensity, like a normal rain would, no, here the sky just opened and dropped the entire load at once, the curtain of falling water hit the lake with a noise of thousand feet running across the surface.

“Da?“ Sigrid´s voice echoed exactly what she was thinking. “What is it? Is it him? Is something wrong?“

Bard couldn´t answer that. He had never seen a single storm in the forest and seriously doubted Thranduil could control the weather, the curse might have been botched but it couldn´t possibly be that botched. But something was happening and something was probably wrong.

“I think the barrier´s falling,“ he heard himself say.

"What barrier?!“

Sigrid pushed aside the soldier and Thornsdyke, who watched the storm closing in just as terrified as the by-standers, and ran to the docks to get a better view. The guards holding Bard didn´t do anything to stop him from following her.

The cold air was rolling over the lake to the town, the docks were already much cooler than the square, despite the sun reaching its highest point.

“What barrier, da?!“ Sigrid turned to her father when he caught up with her.

“I just assumed there must be a barrier of sorts, something that keeps Thranduil trapped in his kingdom, I don´t think he can leave,“ he explained while catching his breath.

“Did he tell you that?“ Sigrid asked, partly curious, partly worried.

The growing wind was tearing apart her hairdo. Bard had to admit she made a gorgeous bride, even under such ugly circumstances.

“I can´t remember,“ he admitted, “ maybe he did, maybe I just think that.“

Sigrid´s expression grew a little bit more hopeful. “So, he´s trying to get out o the forest? To help us?“

“That could be an option,“ Bard nodded. “The forest doesn´t want to let go of him.“

Sigrid ran her fingers through her hair, nervously tugging on it. “Da, this is really, really scary. Tilda is there!“

“She can do it,“ Bard replied quietly, though he had serious doubts as he watched the storm approach.

This was the kind of weather that tore down rocks and trees like leaves of grass, but on the other hand, he was positive Thranduil wouldn´t let Tilda get hurt. He managed spiders, he could manage this.

When the first drops hit the water right at the docks, Thornsdyke and the whole of Laketown caught up with Bard and Sigrid on the pier. The Master looked infuriated, as if the interruption of his wedding finally got to him.

“What is happening, Bard? I suggest you speak and clearly!“ he ordered between sharp breaths.

The short run had done a number on his large physique.

“Who is ´ _him´_ and what is the meaning of this?!“ he wheezed angrily into Bard´s face.

“A friend,“ Sigrid barked. “A friend that´s going to rip you apart, you miserable sack of rot, once he gets here!“

Thornsdyke smiled and Bard had a feeling this was exactly what the Master had been hoping to hear. Now he overconfidently rocked on his heels and called on the guards by snapping his round fingers.

“Lock those two up,“ he ordered, “then we have a welcome party to prepare! Your friend can join us for the wedding!“


	21. There's something truly terrible inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is near! *makes scary noises*  
> Hello! Here comes the next chapter. Again I have to issue a warning: MILDY GRAPHIC STUFF AHEAD. Also, I have never shot anybody with anything, so even though I googled some things, it´s all kinda vague and probably medically incorrect or even impossible. So any abnormalities concerning blood loss and such will be automatically blamed on the curse, okay, bear with me.   
> In other news, I´ve been accepted to master´s degree programme! Not that it´s important to you, I just needed to brag a little :3  
> And of course thank you for the feedback, enjoy the chapter and feel free to express anything you want in the comment section! <3

It wasn´t a fatal wound. The unexpectedness of the arrow did more damage than the arrow itself. Thranduil staggered a few steps back, grunting with pain and trying to get the arrow out. Three more flew right at him, one aimlessly shattering on the hardened side of his face and another missing and barely scratching his left ear, but the third one pierced his leg right above the knee. That was not a good place to be shot. Thranduil swallowed a scream and tried his best not to loose his balance but the pain was getting worse from second to second. He couldn´t properly see his attackers, only heard their voices as they screamed orders on each other. The moment of surprise was completely on their side.

Thranduil roared and blindly slashed a quickly moving shadow on his right. His claws hit leather and metal. _Soldiers? They must have followed Tilda._ He kept attacking the darkness, and growling and snarling at faceless men around him. He tried to utilise his size and his monstrosity as much as possible, deliberately turning himself loose, because the horror he could invoke was the most effective weapon he possesed right now, when wounded and bleeding quite heavily from two nasty wounds.

It was sort of working, the men shrieked now and then but weren´t retreating. Thranduil managed to count four people. Only one of them had a bow and arrows and kept his distance. Once Thranduil´s eyes got used to the darkness, he could make out more of the silhouettes and also realized he wasn´t fighting alone. The kitchen was doing its very best, stabbing and punching, but their efforts, together with their tiny voices were getting lost in the overall turmoil. The men probably hadn´t even noticed they were being attacked by something else than just Thranduil.

He kept them busy enough. From their point of view, he was unambiguously winning, although it might have not seem like that to Thranduil himself. A towering horned shadow with voice like thunder, tearing the space around to shreds and still standing after two direct hits to critical spots, that was very different from the usual walking around they did in Laketown. The last big action the troop had experienced was breaking up a fight in the tavern.

The bad feeling his men had voiced when they had come upon the palace proved to be right and captain Redgrave was growing ashamed of the bad decisions he had been making recently. But the little girl´s footprints led here. She was somewhere around here and the monster was blocking their way.

A big black fist shattered a piece of wall next to Redgrave´s head. He yelped and stabbed where he assumed the face. A whimper, almost human, came in response. The creature pressed both its hands against its freshly bleeding face and stepped back, blinded. Regrave almost forgot to give an order.

“Shoot! For the ever-living hell, shoot that thing, Marcus!“

It took Marcus a terribly long while to move but then he sent five arrows in a quick succession in the direction of the retreating beast. Five short screams followed, the man´s shot was nearly faultless this time, even if not deadly.

Thranduil collapsed. Both his eyes were flooded with blood, depraving him of the little vision he had had up to this point, and the arrows finished the job. He couldn´t understand how the archer even knew where to shoot in the dark, how a simple group of ordinary men could overpower him like this. Could this be a progress of the curse? Did he get _weaker?_ Wasn´t it supposed to be the other way around, a sort of ´more beast, more strength´ equation?

One arrow went right through his ribs. It hurt insanely, Thranduil was almost certain something vital had been hit, because he couldn´t imagine how otherwise would a single arrow cause more pain than a giant spider slashing his back. He broke the shaft off. Two more arrows were sticking out of his arm now, which were the least of his concerns as he could barely feel them. One more in leg, which was problematic. As far as Thranduil could tell, the cloak at that place was getting damp faster than was desirable. His consciousness was about to start slipping any second. He pressed the cloth against the wound in a weak attempt to at slow the bleeding down.

“Let´s go, let´s go!“ Redgrave barked, gesturing wildly at the guards.

The beast was down, but who knew or how long. They needed to fetch the child and get out and preferably do that as quickly as possible, for their own sakes and for the girl´s. One by one they quickly snuck by the monster squirming on the ground in a forming pool of blood. It didn´t attempt to grab them. Redgrave went last, carrying the dying lantern, and in its feeble light he caught a glimpse of a twitching blue eye. The captain turned his gaze away.

They would have definitely found Tilda sooner if they split up, but the silent agreement was to do the exact opposite. The creature could have companions and since most of Marcus´arrows were stuck in its body and the goup suffered a good beating, despite being victorious, nobody wanted to encounter them. They moved in a tight formation, peeking into various rooms, all of which were somehow falling apart or hosted an uncomfortable amount of cobwebs. Redgrave would have sworn he saw a long leg quickly hide when they opened one creaky door.

“What the heck is this place, captain?“ Marcus asked. He carried his bow at the ready.

“Do I look like I know?“ Redgrave gritted his teeth. “Move it, the sooner we get out, the better.“

“Do we even know that kid is there?“

“You traced the steps here, no?“

“Maybe it ate her...“

“Oh shut your trap and move!“ Redgrave pushed the man forward.

Of course he had thought of this possibility already. But they couldn´t simply shrug and dismiss it as a closed case. That would be just sloppy.

“Captain, there´s an open door ahead,“ a soldier reported from the front of the line.

“Alright! Proceed with caution,“ Redgrave ordered and clutched his dagger.

* * *

Tilda jumped to her feet immediately when the door flew open. The books flocked to her protectively and blocked her view, but were scared away seconds later when the men approached. Tilda recognized them and that calmed her down a little, but then she remembered they had no bussiness here. And they looked ruffled to say the least, and frightened. The captain carried a lantern, thanks to which Tilda could see the expression of relief  when he noticed her. That was confusing.

“Tilda... Tilda, it´s okay!“ he said quickly.

He must have noticed the suspicion spreading on her face. Tilda firmly hugged the book she had been reading before they barged in.

“What are you doing here, mister?“ she frowned and stepped back.

Redgrave held out his hand in a peaceful gesture. “We came for you. We´re going to take you home.“

His sleeve was stained with blood. 

“I don´t wanna go home,“ Tilda said, “da´s gonna pick me up here after he saves Bain and Sigrid.“

The captain smiled. “So you told on us, huh?“

Tilda stuck out her tongue at him. “You bet I did!“

“I´m sorry, sweetie,“ the captain sighed, “we didn´t want to hurt anybody, alright? Just come home with us. You´re not safe here, there´s... this thing out there, it´s dangerous, sweetheart, we have to go...“

“What thing?“ Tilda cut him off.

“It´s, uh... what was it?“ Redgrave scratched his head, turning to his men for some help with the description.

They seemed to have other worries at the moment, mostly concerning the flying books. Only Marcus stood with arms crossed on his chest and taped his foot impatiently, not understanding the captain´s need for a debate with a ten-year-old.

“It was a boogeyman, captain,“ he said, annoyed, “and we killed it. Can we go, sir? This place is horrible and I think my back is bleeding- hey!“

Tilda bolted from the room, still clutching the book in her arms, faster than any of them could react.

“Oh come on!“ Redgrave shouted after her. “Seriously?!“

They went after her immediately, but it was difficult to follow someone small and fast in the dark stone hallways of the castle. Tilda almost disappeared to them several times and when they finally caught up with her, the captain secretly wished for the ground to open and swallow them all.

Their attack was a logical reaction to something huge and terrifying such as the monster, right? They were in a massive disadvantage, right? They would probably die, if they hadn´t defend themselves. Right? _So why in the world was Tilda now kneeling next to it, crying and calling its name?_


	22. How long must this go on, this cruel trick of fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> So, the end is upon us, muhehe! No, seriously tho, this was supposed to be the last chapter but because I just have to stretch everything, there´s gonna be two more after this one and probably some sort of an epilogue.   
> Thank you for the feedback,as usually, y´all are great, ily :3 This is sort of a transition chapter, but still feel free to make any comments, they make me super happy!  
> Enjoy!

Thranduil heard Tilda´s calling but wasn´t able to react right away. Everything hurt and he wanted to sleep, slip into the darkness that was reaching for him and just _sleep_. But Tilda wouldn´t stop calling his name. Without opening his eyes, he lifted one hand and tiny fingers immediately took a hold of it, pressing it against small chest with a wildly beating heart inside. The whole world rocked and swayed.

They were on the boat, however, Thranduil had no way of knowing that. Tilda had refused to leave him and had bitten Redgrave twice when he had attempted to separate her from the body, so despite her protests they had brought Thranduil to the boat, which was a very uncomfortable and heavy task.

Tilda had wished for a sudden spider attack the entire time they had been slowly progressing through the forest. Without even realizing it, she had still been carrying the book, arms tightly wrapped around the leather cover. It was a small piece of the palace, a small piece of safety, and she had subconsciously refused to let go of it.

A storm came as the boat approached the open water. A strong wind was throwing the water into their faces and kept pushing the boat back into the woods. Everyone on board was soaked within seconds and they were standing ankles deep in water of an alarmingly red shade. Thranduil was still bleeding a lot, even though Tilda did her best to remember what Bard had taught her about wounds of various kind. She couldn´t attend to all of them, so she focused on the one that bled the most, and worried she was not doing enough.

“Sir, is this a good idea?!“ someone screamed through the raging rain.

“No!“ Redgrave screamed back. “Nothing has been a good idea, alright?! It´s just too late to turn back, we have to push through! I think I hear trees falling!“

It was like trying to tear through an invisible cloth, the lake, usually so calm and smooth like a mirror, turned into an angry thing that tossed the boat around as it pleased. Tilda latched herself onto Thranduil and at moments held for dear life. The men at the oars did too. The storm kept hanging right above their heads and wasn´t showing any effort to stop soon or at least weaken.

* * *

“I legitimately hate this town and everyone in it,“ Sigrid announced when the bars of the cell closed behind her.

“I know, honey,“ Bard sighed from behind the wall, “I´m so sorry, this is all my fault.“

Sigrid paused for a second, but then shook her head. “No, it´s not. We´re practically adults. We should have handled this. It was just a day or so!“

“No!“ Bard opposed sharply, “I left my children. Not good. Bad, even. I shouldn´t have done that, were I here, this jackassery would have never happened! I left my family for a...for...“

“Thranduil saved us back there, da,“ Sigrid replied quietly, “you couldn´t just abandon him. He was injured. Maybe we should have stayed with you. I don´t know.“

Bard didn´t say anything else to that. He feared he would say something he would immediately regret. He left his family for a _what_? A _monster_? A _beast_? _How could this even be on his mind?_ Thranduil was sweet and gentle and so in need of love! Bard couldn´t be angry at him but at the moment, he was angry at everyone and everything.

“You´re right,“ he sighed, “you should´ve stayed with me.“

Several cells down the hallway something moved.

“Sigrid? Is that you?“

“Bain?!“ Sigrid immediately pressed herself against the bars, trying to see where the voice was coming from.

“It´s me! Are you hurt?! If you´re hurt I´m gonna tear them a new one!“ Bain smashed his fist against the bars to demonstrate how serious he was about tearing someone a new one.

“I´ll live,“ Sigrid replied. “Da´s here!“

“ _Da?!_ “

“Bain, darling, please tell me you are alright,“ Bard called out as hopefully as he managed, given the circumstances.

“I´m hungry, they only gave me water. And I´m a bit cold,“ the boy admitted strangely cheerfully, “but I mostly slept, so I didn´t have to think about what was happening to the girls... since I couldn´t do anything about it...“

His voice dropped at the end, Bard didn´t want to imagine what Bain must have had been through. He had always been protective of his sisters, so being separated from them, especially in danger, had probably not been the easiest thing to deal with.

“It´s going to be okay, Bain,“ Bard said unconvincingly.

“You´re a bad liar, da,“ the children replied.

_They even said it in unisono_. Bard´s heart sunk a little.

* * *

“Tilda, what is happening,“ Thranduil whispered.

She was the first thing he had seen when he had regained consciousness, a tearful little face inches from his.

“We´re landing in Laketown,“ she whispered back. “How are you feeling?“

“I cannot move. I have never felt weaker in my life,“ Thranduil replied in a shaky voice.

He was scared, which had been something he had experienced rarely since his curse. It had been usually everything else that feared _him_.

Tilda´s lower lip started trembling. “I thought you were gonna die! I didn´t want to leave you, so they took you too!“

Thranduil´s eyes widened. “I have to return to the forest, Tilda. I am to never leave the forest, I fear bad things will happen if I do!“

“They already happened,“ Tilda said bitterly, looking in the direction of captain Redgrave, “and I couldn´t do anything, because I´m just a dumb kid!“

“You have done more than any adult would,“ Thranduil opposed and pulled her closer, despite his injured shoulder´s protests, “you are the bravest, strongest girl. Bard must be so proud of you.“

“I won´t let them hurt you anymore,“ Tilda whispered and pushed back two impudent tears, that dared to show up.

_Enough crying. She won´t do that no more_.

The men were securing the boat. Redgrave was already on the pier, pacing and sending worried looks to the very scarce movement that was happening in the boat. He wasn´t sure how to proceed. Separating the girl from her monstrous friend was unthinkable, he tried that and two deep imprints of her teeth were more than a clear indicator that she wouldn´t allow it. But the beast weighed a ton, getting it...or him or whatever, anywhere was very impractical to say the least. Redgrave was almost sure thing would eventually result in the creature´s death. What he wasn´t sure about was how he personally felt about it.

Tilda watched him walk around on the pier. The others were either handling the boat or loudly complaining about the weather, nobody was paying any real attention to Thranduil or her. The ideal thing to do would be to run. She could, but Thranduil couldn´t. His breathing grew heavier from second to second and he seemed to be drifting off to oblivion again.

_What if he dies outside the forest? What if those bad things he spoke about mean he dies and his kingdom simply ceases to exist? All the petrified people wither away, even Legolas, they turn to dust, the enchanted kitchenware stops talking and the tooth of time will just eat it, piece by piece, until nothing is left, only a pile of ruins that will make random passers-by say ´oh, I wonder what used to be here´..._

“Thranduil,“ Tilda whispered.

He didn´t respond outloud, but his lips were moving. He heard her, which was definitely a good sign, although not good enough. Before she could do or say anything else, two strong hands picked her up.

“Don´t bite!“ Redgrave said quickly, seeing her expression change. “I´m just getting you out of the boat. You´re in a way.“

With his help Tilda climbed onto the pier and stood there, in the persistent heavy rain, unsure what to do next. She flinched when the thunder sounded again, so close it shook the buildings around.

“What are you going to do with him?“ she shouted through the noisy faling water.

“Go home, Tilda!“

“No! What are you going to do with him?!“

She even stumped her foot this time. Drenched and cold and hungry, yet she still wouldn´t leave the beast alone with them. Redgrave was annoyed and impressed at the same time.

It was decided to take Thranduil to the tavern. It was a spacious and warm place, definitely more practical than any private house. They attracted attention, which was inevitable. In fact, the town was on its feet before Redgrave´s men even entered the tavern. The Master was expecting them. Brock, the inkeeper´s son, had been unofficially tasked with monitoring the docks and bringing any movement immediately to Thornsdyke´s attention. Now the Master headed to the tavern, accompanied by Alfrid and eventually most of the town.


	23. Kill the beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here goes another chapter!  
> I´m gonna be pretty busy next week, a foreign friend is visiting and who knows what will go down, hence the double update! The last chapter and epilogue will take me a while, so please bear with me. Enjoy and let me know what you think! :3

“Da,“ Sigrid spoke again after a moment of silence that was entirely too long, “I just realized I have a whole bunch of hairpins.“

Bard didn´t caught up right away. The constant rattle of the heavily falling rain was making his head hurt .

“That´s... really great,“ he replied.

“No, da, this _is_ really great!“ Sigrid sounded very lively all of a sudden. “I have a bunch of hairpins! We can get out of here!“

Bard was on his feet in a split second. She put her arm through the bars, trying to reach her father with a fistful of their new potential keys to freedom.

“I don´t really know ho to pick a lock,“ she admitted, “you have to do it.“

“Alright. Keep an eye out for the guard,“ Bard said, kneeling in front of the lock.

The light was miserable, they probably wouldn´t even see the guard coming.

“Nobody´s here, da,“ Bain called from the other end of the hallway, “everyone´s gone, something is going on outside.“

Bard instantly knew what that something probably was. His hands were shaking when he was unlocking his cell. He took several deep breaths to calm down. Not a good time to panic right now.

“Do you think it´s _him_?“ Sigrid asked quietly, still pressed against the bars.

Bard shook his head. “Maybe. Hard to tell. Give me just a second, I´m going to get you right out!“

It took longer than that, mostly because of how annoyingly dark the place was, but on the other hand, the absence of guards made the second part of escaping way easier.

The rain turned Laketown into one big muddy puddle, occasionally iluminated by lightning. The streets were empty, but the tavern seemed to be bursting with life. However, the angry voices, incoherent yelling and several times repeated ´Kill it!´ suggested it was bursting with the bad kind of life.

Bard kicked the door open, ready to throw punches, but once the people noticed him, everyone fell silent, even Master Thornsdyke seemed to be short of words. A high pitched tearful voice cut through the sudden silence.

“Da! They want to kill him!“

Bard pushed his way through the crowd to the center of the room, where Tilda and (to Bard´s surprise) captain Redgrave with three of his men shielded Thranduil from the town´s supposed justice. Thranduil himself looked horrible, dirty, bloodied, clearly injured in several places, one of his antlers was broken, and the worst part was he wasn´t moving. Bard couldn´t tell whether he was even still breathing.

“What is that thing, Bard?“ Redgrave hissed under his breath, careful not to let his guard down.

“If I were you, I´d think twice about what you´re calling him,“ Bard turned to him with fists clenched.

He pushed aside a soldier and carefully approached Thranduil´s motionless body. He was afraid to touch him, somehow everything on Thranduil seemed thinner and more fragile than in the woods. As if he was withering away right in front of Bard´s eyes.

“He can´t stay here, da,“ Tilda said in a shaky voice, “I think he dies if he doesn´t return to the forest. It´s the curse!“

That got the crowd moving again. The word ´curse´flew around the room and people started to raise their voices, some stepping forward, some back. Thornsdyke folded his arms across his large chest and a smug grin grew on his face.

“Is this that friend of yours, that will supposedly rip as apart, when he gets here?“ he chuckled. “It´s pretty disappointing, I have to say!“

He waited for a reaction but nor Bard nor his children payed any attention to him. Sigrid hurried to hug Tilda and Bain kneeled down next to his father, who was carefully brushing the pale hair away from Thranduil´s scarred face.

“Please say something,“ Bard whispered, “or blink, move a finger, anything!“

To his surprise and relief, Thranduil actually reacted to his voice. As if it was all he needed to hear, a mysterious new life poured into him and he opened his eyes. They were blank for a moment, not recognizing anyone or anything around, then they latched onto Bard.

“The children... are they alright?“ Thranduil asked quietly.

His voice sounded like rustling of old paper, barely audible in the midst of the crowd yelling and arguing about what to do next.

“They are,“ Bard replied, taking hold of Thranduil´s hand that gently touched his messy hair, “and you´ll be too, we´ll get you home and stay with you forever, I promise!“

A small smile grew on Thranduil´s dry lips and he shook his head. “You were too good to me from the very beginning, Bard, and I cannot thank you enough. But this is where it ends.“

Bard took a deep breath, ready to protest, but Thranduil pressed a finger against his lips. Talking was becoming more and more difficult for him, as well as any other movement or even breathing, and he needed to finish. Suddenly he wanted to tell Bard so much, regretting he hadn´t done so before.

“Thank you for the hope,“ he spoke, “I had so much of it when you were with me and it was the greatest feeling in the world. Walking with you, dancing with you, talking to you... I was happy, Bard. It was amazing to remember how to be happy. I wish I could give you back something more than just words and a library.“

“Stay with us then!“ Bard implored immediately. “You can pull through! You fought spiders the size of a house, for crying out loud!“

He felt a familiar lump growing in his throat. The people around kept bickering and screaming, he wanted to just punch every single loud mouth in that crowd, _why won´t they shut up for one second..._

“Da!“ Tilda´s voice came out of nowhere, clear like a bell among the noise. “You have to kiss him!“

She shoved an incredibly dirty and wet book into his face and looked dead serious, however, Bard had no idea what she was talking about.

“It´s the end to every story ever!“ she continued urgently. “It breaks curses, reverses death, un-does petrifications! _Love!_ You have to kiss him, da!“

“Tilda, I don´t think...“

“You _do_ love him, don´t you? Sort of?“ she looked at him from behind the book. “I understand it´s not like... _before_ , but if there´s anything, just the tiniest bit of something real, it might save him!“

Tilda wasn´t wrong but it was really difficult to identify what feelings they had for each other when the time was running out and death was literally held back by more or less bare hands of a few men. Bard looked at Thranduil, who was still holding his hand with all the remaining strength, hoping to see some kind of answer. He met his starry eyes, more clear than before and peaceful, and that scared him. Peaceful was good, but not now. Now Bard needed stubborn, fighting Thranduil, Thranduil who was not okay with this.

He picked him up into his embrace. _The tiniest bit of something rea_ l. Oh, there was more than just the tiniest bit, a shy, still undeveloped feeling, hiding in the furthest corner of Bard´s heart, behind thoughts such as ´we are too different´and ´he´s not even human´or ´think aout Myra´that stood around it like a barricade. The realness of it was undeniable to Bard himself, the only thing left to do was then act and hope that the curse would see it his way.

Bard put all the affection he had into that kiss. When he pressed his lips against Thranduil´s, imprisoning his last breath inside the fading form, he tried to recall every single happy memory from the short time they had together. _I care_ , his mind screamed to the invisible god who stood behind the curse, _notice me, I care_.

_I care and I love._


	24. The transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Sorry this took four thousand years but I´m still kinda stuck, part of me doesn´t want to finish this I guess...*sigh* I´ll try to get the next one out asap!  
> Meanwhile enjoy this chapter and as usually, any comments regarding anything are welcomed and oh my god so appreciated (seriously, you guys are the best!).

Nothing happened.  
The people fell silent in expectation and looked around, waiting for magic to happen. Thranduil´s face lit up with an unusual youthful light for a brief second but then it was gone, just as fast as it had appeared. His body remembered it was, in fact, supposed to be dying. Still, he smiled and Bard could see a genuine, unclouded happines in his face. It was rather painful, given what their situation was.

“Ha!“ Thornsdyke exclaimed, amused, into the sudden silence. “A _kiss!_ This isn´t a fairy tale, silly girl!“

  
His voice changed tone from jovial to very dark, which made everyone stiffen in anticipation once again.

  
“Your monster friend will die now,“ the Master said, “defend it and you shall die with it. No loss for the town.“

  
The guards on Thonrsdyke´s order raised their weapons and charged at the beast.  
The children immediately regrouped around their father, who was still holding Thranduil in his arms. Redgrave shoved Tilda behind him. His men looked rather torn but had no time to think about whose side they were on, since the rest of the troop hit them like a swarm of hornets, with the help of some overzealous locals, so they just stood by their captain, more or less voluntarily shielding the children. They were also the first ones to get punched in the face, which fired them up enough to return the favour and actually get angry.  
However, the tussle didn´t last for long. The ongoing storm sent a groundshaking thunder, followed by a lightning that shone so brightly it left everyone blinded. Somehow, all the lamps inside the tavern went out, even though there was no mysterious gust of wind or anything of that kind. The cluster of people huddled closely together, stuck in a complete darkness and very, very clueless.

  
“What is this?!“

  
“What´s happening?!“

  
“Is it the _monster_?!“

  
“Everybody stay together!“

  
“It´s just a bit of darkness!“ the Master shouted, his voice easily raising above the frightened rustle around. “Get a hold of yourselves! This is what it wants!“

  
Nobody noticed the hooded figure passing through the confused crowd. Everyone was stepping out of the way without even realizing it and when the cloak brushed on someone´s shoulder, it was like touch of a cloud, unnoticeable in the current state of things and mind. The mysterious person glided through the rucus leaving as much as a feeble charge in the air around.

  
* * *

  
Tilda was scared. She was positive the kiss would work and when it hadn´t, she had to quickly grab onto her hope, otherwise it would slip away for good. She needed to hold someone´s hand or something to feel at least a tiny bit safer, so when Redgrave pushed her back, she took a hold of his coat. He needed both hands after all.  
Then the lightning struck and the sudden darkness scared her out of her witts. Everyone was sort of panicking, but Tilda knew something was more wrong than it seemed.

 _Something was coming_.

  
The good thing was people stopped attacking them and were too busy being scared, but that wasn´t enough for Tilda to let go off Redgrave´s coat and search for Sigrid or Bain. Whatever was coming, it was very close. She could feel it, the air vibrated with something unusual. The adults didn´t have a clue but the children knew. Tilda knew. So when the hooded stranger walked past her, she recognized their nature.

  
So did Thranduil. Still clinging to Bard and taking his last breaths, he suddenly felt a familiar change of air and turned his head just in time to see a god kneeling next to them.  
The Judge of the Dead had a dim greyish glow to his face, clearly taming his appearance as much as he managed. His features were both crystal clear and impossible to make out at the same time. He leaned over Thranduil and planted a single small kiss on his forehead. Then things started to happen.

  
Bard wasn´t sure whether the grey-faced man was really there, until he started to glow. And Thranduil started to glow. His eyes were closed and his hand, up to this point firmly clutching Bard´s coat, hit the floor with a dull thud. He looked dead but the warm golden light springing from every single one of his pores made him look peaceful and etheral. The glow poured out of Bard´s arms and crawled like lava into all directions, pooling around the feet of the Laketown folk who had now completely lost their grasp on the situation.  
Pieces of the curse were flowing away with the light. The antlers dissolved into mere dust, the bark started to peel off, revealing the fair skin underneath, smooth and undamaged, like nothing had ever happened to it. Thranduil´s body was changing shape, eventually losing all of its animalistic features and almost getting lost in the dirty red cloak.

  
Nobody dared to breath during this transformation. Most of the on-lookers were questioning every single thing they knew about the world, praying or simply staring with blank minds. It lasted a second or a year and then it was gone, the golden glow died out, the lights went back on and the hooded figure was gone.

  
Everyone sort of felt the right thing to do was to flock around the beast and see the change, but nobody moved. Whatever had just taken place, it was too surreal to be processed so quickly. Even Alfrid and Thornsdyke stood aside, slightly shocked, slightly angered and notably befuddled. It was highly unusual to see someone more powerful that the Master in Laketown. They didn´t know to what to react first.  
Bard held Thranduil like a porcelain doll, looking in both utter amazement and worry at his new, or more precisely, old form. He was beautiful, symetrical, almost unnaturally, but that didn´t matter to Bard much. He wanted to see Thranduil´s chest raise with breath, he wanted to see his eyelashes flutter and eyes open, he wanted him to speak or just do anything that would at least remotely indicate life. But nothing of that kind was happening.  
Bard layed his head on Thranduil´s new, much softer chest and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. Tears weren´t coming, strangely enough, only a bitter and empty feeling of reconciliation with the moment.

  
_At least they had parted with kiss._

  
A shy hand ran up Bard´s back and Thranduil took a breath.

  
“Are we alive?“ he asked quietly in a sleepy tone, as if he was just now waking up from a long afternoon nap.

  
Bard sprung up into the sitting position. “Thranduil?!“

Thranduil opened his eyes and brushed back his hair. Upon touching his own features, an expression of absolute shock appeared on his face.

  
“Am I...?“ he tried to voice a question but the words failed him. What he felt under his fingers was too good to be true.

  
But Bard throwing himself around his neck with tearful sparkle in his eyes and simultaneously the widest brightest smile Thranduil had ever seen was enough of an answer.

  
“It´s gone, the curse is gone!“ Bard whispered into the curve of Thranduil´s neck, puling him as close as he could, slightly confused by the much slimmer frame and softness of the flesh that wasn´t there before. “It´s gone and you´re alive!“

  
“Was it the kiss?“

  
“I don´t know... maybe?“

  
They quickly grew ecstatic, caressing each other´s hair, loosening the hug just to look at each other, then tightening it again, because no matter how cliché it was at the moment, they never wanted to let the other one go ever again.

  
At first noone had even noticed the storm had ended. It was Sigrid who first looked out of the window and saw the dawn and the crystal clear sky. Everything outside was covered in droplets, sparkling and shimmering, all the dirt and muck of town washed clean off. When the people walked out of the dark shadowy tavern, it was like stepping into a whole new world. The chatter started to flow, everyone felt the need to express how they felt about what was just witnessed.  
A few men had been lightly injured in the brawl and one lady had a black eye. People were uttering embarassed apologies here and there, nobody knew who landed which punch. Redgrave was bleeding from his nose but clearly didn´t mind, because he was too busy pushing people out of the way, so Bard and Thranduil could pass.

  
Although his wound had healed miraculously, Thranduil had troubles walking. He had gotten used to carrying way more weight and walking on hooves was quite different from feet. But every misstep was followed by laughter now, it was great to stumble over one´s own feet and wobble riddiculously by Bard´s side.  
He took Thranduil to the pier, aside from everyone else. They sat down, looking across the lake to the forest.

  
“Do you think he has awaken?“ Thranduil asked.  
He was worried. Some of the thoughts that popped up in his mind were downright horrifying.

  
“I´m sure Legolas is fine,“ Bard replied, brushing his thumb over the white knuckles of Thranduil´s hand, “you´ve taken a good care of him. Though he´ll probably be as clumsy as you for a while now.“

  
Thranduil leaned against him, smiling, but obviously not at ease. The father in him needed to see his child.

  
“Will you leave us now?“ Tilda´s voice came from behind them.

  
Bain and Sigrid were standing by her side. Bain had gained a few new scratches and bruises and Sigrid´s white wedding dress was far from white, there were smudges of various kinds on their faces, their hair was messy, and in a funny way they indeed looked like their father´s children at the moment.  
Tilda´s state wasn´t any better. There was blood on her sleeve and Bard immediately got up and ran to her when he noticed it.

  
“It´s not hers, da,“ Sigrid calmed him down, “it´s Redgrave´s. She saw he was bleeding and wiped it off with her sleeve.“

  
“Yeah, da, watch out, Tilda and ol´ Red are besties now!“ Bain chuckled and tousled his sister´s hair.

  
She smacked him over the hand. “We´re not besties, shut up! Thranduil, will you leave us now?“

  
Thranduil shook his head. “Of course not. But I do not know what will happen next.“

  
Bard picked up Tilda into his arms.  
“Thranduil has to find Legolas now,“ he said, “but then we´ll be together. Don´t you worry.“

  
She nodded, biting her trembling lip. She wasn´t buying all of that, adults lied sometimes about these things. But it was good enough for now.


	25. Tale as old as time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! The last chapter! I didn´t expect my very first fanfiction to be received the way it was received, thank you all for the comments and kudos, you´ve been a great motivation and I´m certainly going to write something more, I already have a few ideas. For now, however, I have to attend some other things, but stick around, new stuff will appear eventually!  
> (Not gonna lie, I´m rather content with myself for finishing a piece of writing, That doesn´t happen often, lol. )  
> So, enjoy the last chapter!

The new day found everyone exhausted in some way. Some mentally, some physically, some just overall exhausted. Ironically, Thranduil was the only one who had enough energy to get on a boat and head towards the forest, since the injuries and near death had been washed away with the curse. So once he was able to stand and walk more or less straight, he took off, lighthearted and leaving Bard covered in promising kisses instead of goodbye kisses, because he was sure they were going to see each other soon again.

Nobody appeared to be willing to talk about the events that had just taken place in Laketown. Most people kept their attitude towards Bard´s family and when they were returning to their homes to fix the leaks on their roofs, they were muttering about how this all had been his and his darn kids´fault. The Master didn´t have to issue any statements or attempt to justify his actions because barely anyone had spoken a word against him. On the contrary. Once he got hold of the situation again, he stripped captain Redgrave of his rank and with that his job, making him a warning for those other few that had defied his orders. Then, purely out of cowardness, Thornsdyke locked himself in his house together with Alfrid, and hardly dared to peek through the closed curtains. He was expecting Bard to show up at his doorstep, ready to break his jaw, or even the beast, who was no longer a beast, to appear leading some horrifying woodland army.

Neither of those things happened.

The town´s reaction to Sigrid´s forced and fortunately unfinished wedding was the last straw. Bard made the definitive decision to leave and his children all agreed with him before he had even voiced this wish. Washed and in clean clothes, Bard and the two older kids started to gather their possesions and pack. They did so in a special kind of happy silence that screams of better tomorrows.

Tilda was busy. Since the deity had appeared in the tavern, she had been lowkey looking for the unfamiliar hooded figure, hoping the Judge of the Dead would still be around. She caught a glance of something here, a glance of something there, and was chasing these glances all over the town. They led her back to the tavern.

He was sitting at the table in the corner, untouched pint in front of him. From a distance he looked like a random tramp that stopped for a drink and some rest before setting off again, but Laketown didn´t see many of those, with being on the lake and all. His hood was the color of an ugly autumn day and the lanterns around smothered the greyish glow underneath. Tilda climbed onto the chair next to him.

It took him a while to notice her, since gods weren´t probably used to random children walking up to them in broad daylight like it was the most normal thing to do.

“You forgot about him, didn´t you,“ the girl said in a cheeky, yet slightly accusing tone.

The god didn´t turn his face to her but Tilda knew he was smiling.

“Maybe,“ was the answer.

He didn´t speak out loud, but she could hear him clear as day in her mind. Her head started to hurt a bit after just this single word. Tilda rubbed her temples and shook it off. Who ever said talking to gods was going to be easy?

“Well, to be quite honest.... and don´t take this the wrong way, mister,“ she continued, moving closer, “I don´t think you did a good job with that curse at all. It was kind of all over the place. So I brought you something, in case you wanna curse someone again.“

She pulled out the book and pushed it over to him.

“It´s very useful when it comes to ways out of the curse,“ she added.

This time The Judge of the Dead turned his head and looked at her, a very confusing human child that just gave him a fairytale book and advice on how to do curses.

“The kiss did not help him,“ he said and Tilda flinched when it echoed in her head.

“It _did_ something though,“ she opposed, “because you showed up right after!“

The glowing face had no expression, the god´s pearly eyes slowly moved between the book and the girl. There were way too many questions in the mind of the all-knowing entity. _Why is she not scared?_ _Why does she talk to him?_ _A book?_

Tilda jumped down from the chair and adjusted her skirt.

“I gotta go now, I don´t want da to worry,“ she said.

“Read the book, mister, will you?. Kiss really is a good way out, I think. But then again, maybe don´t curse anyone anymore? I mean,“ she looked down, drawing a circle in the dust on the floor with her foot, “we are kind of stupid sometimes, I know. Lake folk, forest folk... we are. But we don´t really mean any harm.“

A hint of smile appeared on the deity´s lips, but he didn´t say anything.

“Then again,“ Tilda shrugged, “if you´d like to turn Master Thornsdyke into a rock, nobody would be really against that idea... okay, I really have to go now! Bye, mister!“

She made a curtsie and hopped away, obviously content with how the conversation had gone. The Judge of the Dead was looking after her for a good while after she had left, utterly confused, because he had never experienced anything like that in his endless existence before.

* * *

The forest looked different. Firstly, the time wasn´t broken anymore. The day times of the forest and Laketown matched. The leftovers of the barrier that had shattered when Redgrave pushed the boat through it were still floating around in the water, looking like rainbow oil spills.

Secondly, the storm had done some serious number on the trees. In several places the forest was turned to ruins, one torso of a tree next to another, which would look really sad if it weren´t for the magic that still clung to it all, turning it into a dreamy landscape shimmering in the sun.

And thirdly, the place was live like never before. Chirping, the sound of legs and paws crushing the grass and branches, splashing of fish in the river and on top of that, voices. They were distant but they were there. Their presence put a spring in Thranduil´s step and he reached the palace in no time, winded, with his vision a bit blurry and not entirely _ready_ to face the survivors but definitely eager to do so.

They were wandering around the ruins of the palace like ghosts, drowsy and confused, reaching for their close ones as if in a dream. They noticed Thranduil but they didn´t do anything except watched him pass through and run up the stairs. Thranduil hadn´t said anything either. He didn´t know where to begin, the most logical way would be probably an apology but if he was to be completely frank with himself, the blank stares of his former subjects scared him a little. He hoped Legolas would a bit more... present.

He found him laying on the floor in the same room Legolas had always been. He was breathing and seemed to be napping. Thranduil knelt next to him, flooded by relief. The time hadn´t left any visible mark on Legolas, he was still young and beautiful, without a single dent. Thranduil carefully caressed his son´s hair while his eyes were filling with tears. So he couldn´t see when Legolas opened his eyes and smiled at him, taking hold of his hand.

“Ada...“

If there was a single shred of the curse left, it was blown away by the explosion of emotions that followed. Crying, laughter, embraces and the necessary reprimanding on Legolas´side and apologizing on Thranduil´s, all of it came from the deepest depths of their hearts. It was painful but in the good liberating way. Especially Thranduil felt like a huge iceberg inside of his chest just melted away.

When the petrification dissolved, Legolas´entire body collapsed. Legs, weakened by the century long lack of use, gave up right away and the boy dropped to the ground. His mind hadn´t awakened right away and the slumber lasted until his father´s hand pulled him out of it.

Legolas remembered what had happened quite quickly. One does not simply forget what does it feel like to be turned into stone, nor the blinding burning light, nor the screams of everyone around, including one´s own parent. He also remembered what had been the cause of all that, so besides all the love and happiness he was bursting with in his father´s arms, he couldn´t help but blame him. He told him, as mildly as he managed, while Thranduil was crying his regrets into Legolas´shoulder. It was difficult to maintain any negative feeling at the moment. So Legolas simply pushed it all away. There was certainly going to be enough time to deal with that later. For now he decided to concentrate on how great it was not being a statue anymore.

* * *

Former captain Redgrave deemed having an awkward apologetic conversation with Bard unavoidable. Things couldn´t get much worse for him, so even if Bard was about to simply deck him instead of talking, Redgrave wouldn´t mind. It would be a perfectly reasonable reaction on Bard´s side. And Redgrave really didn´t want to go home yet. He needed to think aboiut their options, now when he had lost his job. There weren´t many.

Tilda found him sitting at the steps of their house and called Bard. The men´s converstaion was exactly as short and awkward as Redgrave had anticipated. Bard was grateful for him protecting Tilda but hadn´t forgotten about him hurting Thranduil either. Still, he expressed his worry regarding the Redgrave family and the other man knew it was genuine.

“You could leave,“ Bard suggested, “we´re leaving. Just move, go somewhere else...“

“I´ve barely been outside Laketown,“ Redgrave scratched his head, slightly embarassed, “I don´t know where we would go.“

Bard shrugged. “Anything´s better than here. This place is wrong in so many ways, I can´t even count them all. They will turn on you. It doesn´t matter you don´t know where to go right now. Something will turn up eventually. If I were you, I´d leave.“

They parted briefly and without any visible emotion. Tilda waved at the former captain from behind the door.

“You could just tell him to come with us,“ she said when Bard returned into the house.

“You two really are besties, huh,“ Bard laughed and booped her nose.

Tilda frowned. “No! But there´s like three people in this place that aren´t pure evil and he _might_ be one of them. I´m trying to appreciate that.“

* * *

Thranduil returned two days later, accompanied by Legolas. Their ship appeared in the dock seemingly out of nowhere, an elegant shape with outstanding carvings, surprisingly slim, with a crew of still a bit confused woodland sailors. Men and women alike poked their heads out of the windows, watching the beautiful newcomers guard their royalty as they passed through the streets.

Sigrid packed the very last of their necessities that morning and they were all set. Nobody went to nostalgically wander around the town to recall old memories. They were excited for the new home, even if that meant sleeping on a stone floor until the palace was put together again. The only memory they brought along was Myra´s headstone. It was small. Tilda lovingly wrapped it into a blanket, like a stone baby, and carried it to the ship on her own.

Meeting Legolas for the second time and in flesh was... casual, to say the least. Thranduil had told him so much that he practically knew the family before they even stood face to face. Five minutes in and he already promised Sigrid to teach her all about archery. Smiling, cheerful, ultimately loveable, maybe even too much.

Bard couldn´t help but ask. “Did you two had falling out already?“

“He is angry with me,“ Thranduil sighed, “he suffered because of me and is trying to cover it up with being... happy. It will také a while before I can ask his complete forgiveness. I did destroy our kingdom after all.“

It was difficult to offer consolidation after that. Bard simply took Thranduil´s hand and pressed a kiss into his palm.

“He´ll come around, you´ll see,“ he said. “He loves you very much. I can tell. I have three of them.“

They didn´t have many things, so the ship was loaded quickly. Since there were no goodbyes to be said to anyone, the family simply picked themselves up and left, accompanied by the content looks of those who couldn´t wait for the troublemakers to leave. Only Ethel came out to wave and wish them good luck. Tilda quickly ran to hug her and while walking to the docks, she turned back several times. Bard knew she was looking for the Redgrave family.

“Don´t worry about them,“ he said and put his arms around her shoulders, “if he wants to, he´ll know where to find us.“

The ship took off and that was the final step.

Sigrid made herself comfortable at the bow of the ship, resting her chin on her folded arms.

“I feel ten years older,“ she admitted to Bain, who joined her after a while.

“You look ten years older,“ was his immediate response which earned him a punch in the arm.

“I mean it. Be serious for a second,“ she frowned.

“To hell with serious! I have been more than serious for the past several days,“ Bain mumbled.

“I´m sorry, sis,“ he added when he saw Sigrid´s expression, “I know you´ve been through a lot. But I will never ever ever let anything like that happen again. I promise.“

“It´s not your obligation, you know,“ Sigrid shook her head, “but I aprreciate the concern.“

They hadn´t hugged often but it was very important when they did. Tilda saw them and ran to join the hug.

“This is like out of a story!“ she grinned. “A happy ending!“

“Don´t jinx it!“

* * *

_Time passed and things changed. New stories were written, empty spaces on the shelves were filled and even though the books couldn´t fly anymore, they were still filled with magic. One of these stories was about two kings, and their four children, two princes and two princesses, who restored the forest kingdom from its ruins and ruled it together. One king was fair and gentle, the other one dark and rough, he came from the world of a common man. Hand in hand they built the walls stronger and the towers taller, making the kingdom almost as glorious as it used to be._

_Being a mortal, the dark king passed away eventually. Mourning the loss of yet another beloved spouse, the fair king well remembered what had brought his doom all those years ago, and instead of drowning his sorrow in wine, he resorted into the kingdom´s waste gardens and passed the crown onto his child. The fair king´s son became the next monarch, chosing his sister, one of the dark king´s daughters, to take the place of the queen.Her brother became the kingdom´s fiercest warrior, mastering not only the bow and arrow, but also other weapons, which were too uncomfortable for the forest folk. Dark king´s youngest daughter took as her duty to tell stories for future generations and spent most of her life with a quill or a brush in her hand, creating worlds._

_The dark king´s resting place was set side by side with the headstones of the mothers. Decades later he was joined by his children. Centuries and many monarchs later, new stories appeared, about two pale beautiful figures coming to the graves from time to time and talking to them. Children who read the youngest princess´stories, quickly caught up. It was the fair king and his son, keeping the memories of their loved ones alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading this far! I hope I´ll finally get to do the ilustration, ideally one per chapter. I´ll be posting them on my art Tumblr, so if you´re interested, visit me here: http://kuku-doodles.tumblr.com  
> I´ll add them to the chapters here as well :3
> 
> So, see you at the next fic!


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